


Lies and Promises

by Warenia



Series: Assassin AU [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU - Comicverse
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-30
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 00:40:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 37,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/742084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warenia/pseuds/Warenia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Damian never became Robin and arrives in Gotham to infiltrate the Batfamily as an undercover agent for his Mother, believing that Batman isn't actually his Father but just cover Talia arranged him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Damian Wayne

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Changed dashes to quotations for clearing up the dialog. If there's anyone who's interested in doing beta for this fic, leave a comment or something and I'll figure something out.

Laughter and chatter fills the Wayne Manor hall as Dick, Jason and Tim bust out of the Batcave right behind Alfred and Bruce.

"And did you see that guy’s face when I hit him with the escrimas?" Dick chuckles and flails around with his hands.

"It’s Night _wing_ , you prick!" Jason imitates and grins, "hey, you should make it a catchphrase or something."

"Jason, Dick. Shut up," Bruce says quietly. Both he and Alfred have frozen on their feet as they stare into the kitchen doorway.

A dark figure is leaning to the doorframe, a hood thrown over his head.

Dick tilts his head, certainly not worried. Whoever this guy is, if he was looking for trouble, he found it. The figure snorts quietly and steps forward, tossing off his hood.

They are staring into the pale blue eyes of a fifteen-year-old boy. His short, dark hair is pushed backwards and his skin is glowing golden under the tight, black suit. He pulls slowly off his black gloves while measuring them all up with cold, hostile eyes.

The boy steps one more step forward and nods to Bruce.

"Hello, Father."

– – –

The week has been… crazy. Is there another word to describe a week like this?

Bruce has a son. A _real_ son. With _Talia al Ghul_ , of all people. His name is Damian and he’s a demon. He has turned out to be an arrogant little snot equipped with a ruthless personality and an attitude problem. Plus he’s been trained by the goddamn League of Assassins and like even that was not enough he seems to have a personal vendetta against Tim.

Tim _knew_ the boy was going to be trouble.

He remembers the one time Bruce allowed this "Damian" on patrol. Before the dreadful night was over, Damian had screwed up the chase, flown out solo and killed the gangers they were after. Bruce yelled at him so loud that Tim could have sworn the Manor’s roof jumped twenty feet into the air.

Despite this, Bruce seems to believe the boy is in Gotham with good intentions. Doesn’t trust him but believes in him. “He just needs a little guiding…” Yeah right. Even _a lot_ of guiding might not help in Damian’s case. Tim shakes his head.

It’s the small hours of a Thursday night. They are just finishing for the night, on their way back to the Manor.

Tim yawns and glances out of the Batmobile (which can also fly now that Damian the show-off proved his engineering skills useful). He can see something move in the shadows. Then suddenly a black and white flash darts across the headlights. Tim gasps sharply as Bruce pulls the breaks and stops the Batmobile. They jump out and scour the surroundings.

"Was that who I thought it was?" Tim asks. Bruce scowls under his cowl.

"For his sake, I hope not."

A shadow flies over them. Tim glances up to see Dick leap out of the darkness with enviable grace and land in front of them. He straightens up and nods to Bruce.  
– Sorry, Batman. I promised to take the little assassin to a walk.

Bruce grinds his teeth and sighs.

"I told you, Nightwing, he lacks discipline."

Dick’s expression goes uncharacteristically dark but before he gets the chance to answer, Tim coughs and taps Bruce’s arm. He gestures behind Dick where a hooded figure (Damian, obviously) walks out into the light.

He tosses the hood off and marches angrily to Bruce. Tim’s eyes narrow. He already knows this isn’t going to end well.

"You gave me a chance and I took it, Batman. I did wrong in your eyes but you have given me no chance to prove I can change my ways!" Damian yells, "but Nightwing did."

"He shouldn’t have!" Bruce snaps.

Damian’s blue eyes narrow.

"Fine, _Batman_. We’ll return to the Manor," the boy says poisonously. There’s a glow in his eyes which sends cold shivers running down Tim’s spine. An ominous feeling knocks in his head but he pushes it away and tries to think of anything else but the darkness in Damian’s eyes.

Damian turns around and vanishes into the shadows. Dick nods to them and then flips backwards off the roof and after the boy.

Tim glances at Bruce who has turned silent. Too silent. It’s always the same with Damian. Jay and Bruce fight all the time. Dick and Bruce don’t usually _fight_ but Bruce chastises Dick for not taking anything seriously enough. But it’s different with Damian. That’s his son, his own flesh and blood. Tim can understand why Bruce wants to protect him.

"We should get to home too," Tim suggests. Bruce doesn’t say a thing when they buckle up and head home in the Batmobile.

The car ride is so silent that Tim can’t ignore his thoughts anymore.

There is something wrong with Damian. He can feel it.

No matter how well Damian can prove his good intentions, he won’t make the mistake of trusting the boy.

– – –

The Wayne Manor. Ten minutes later.

Damian slumps down to an armchair and starts ranting about how unfair Bruce is being with not trusting him and choosing Tim over him. Dick jumps down from the upstairs, performing a perfect somersault and landing over another armchair. It creaks violently but Dick just grins. Damian gives him a subtly measuring look without even slowing down his speech.

Dick has changed the tight Nightwing suit to worn jeans and a T-shirt that is getting wet of the water dripping off of his short, dark hair. His intensely deep blue eyes are watching Damian as he shifts into a more comfortable position and shrugs.

"That’s why I took you out tonight."

Damian’s rant is interrupted with Dick’s quiet notion. He blinks a few times before frowning.

"You’re doing it too! I don’t need supervision. I can take care of myself!"

"You are looking at it wrong. Change perspective for a sec. You show up one day, announcing you’re Bruce’s son of whom we knew nothing about. Your mother is the daughter of Ra’s al Ghul, one of Batman’s greatest enemies. And you expect us to trust you with a snap of fingers?"

Damian stares at Dick who stretches casually and smiles lightly at Damian. The boy tugs his collar and thinks about it.

"I can see what you’re getting at, Grayson."

"Good. Because I know it’s not easy, you know, feeling you’re not trusted upon. But it’ll sure be worth it when he comes around," Dick says. Then the man gets up and heads to the kitchen where Alfred is making them a night snack.

Damian stares after him before dragging out his phone. He makes a video call and a few seconds later his Mother picks up and her face flashes on the screen.  
"My darling son. How has your first week in Gotham begun?"

"As expected, Mother. He believed the guise you crafted for me being his son. But he doesn’t trust me yet. The current Robin – he may pose a problem. The Red Hood is avoiding me so he won’t cause trouble. But Nightwing, I believe, is starting to trust me. It’s proving useful, since Bruce seems to value his opinion."

"Yes, Richard Grayson truly has his charms," Talia mutters, "remember what you are there for. This war has only begun and you are our best chance to distract Batman until we’re ready to face him."

Damian nods.

"I know, Mother. I’ll do my best and will not fail you," he promises. Talia smiles untypically gently and for a moment Damian thinks the phone’s useless camera is just playing tricks on him.

"Of course you won’t, my darling. Good night, honey."

"It’s a morning here," Damian remarks, "but good night, Mother."

Talia hangs up. Damian pushes his phone down just as Dick walks in with Alfred on his heels. The acrobat slumps down, sighs and brushes his hand over his left side ribs. Alfred places a tray full of food on the coffee table. After he tells them that he’ll be in the Batcave if they need anything else, he walks out towards the Batcave entrance. Batman and Robin have arrived.

"I should’ve seen that guy coming," Dick admits and brushes his ribs again.

"That’s why you had a partner, Grayson."

"Partner. I like that, Damian," Dick chuckles. Damian smirks but there’s no joy in his voice.

Infiltrating the Bat-family is going to be a lot harder than he thought. He almost regrets promising his Mother that he’ll take them down when they are no longer needed.

And he has never broken a promise before.

Damian shivers as he feels that the day is coming sooner than he wants to think.

– – –


	2. In the deep of the night

"Shut up, Drake."

"I wasn’t talking to you, Damian."

"Didn’t sound like it."

It’s the next morning (well, noon) and they’re all gathered around a breakfast table for the first time during Damian’s time in Gotham.

Dick tells Bruce about the Joker surfacing in Gotham after his few years of absence. Jason’s face turns so red of anger when he hears the name “Joker” that even Damian won’t dare to mock him. Dick apologizes for bringing the topic up and is granted a nod from Jason.

Tim glares at Damian over his plate. Damian smirks and kicks him.

"You’re glaring, Drake."

"Did the assassins teach you anything else than how to state out the obvious?"

"Yeah. Like how to kick the ass of an inept Robin, for example."

"What could _you_ possibly bring to the legacy more than me?" Tim hisses. His fingers clench into a fist out of reflex. Damian snorts.

"Skills, intelligence, efficiency," Damian lists. Tim rolls his eyes.

"Wow. He’s dumber than what he looks like."

"Timmy," Dick begs. He’s skimming over at Bruce whose teeth have begun to grit imminently.

"I am the son of Batman! I dare you to repeat that and you won’t talk ever again!" Damian yells and jumps to his feet. Tim flinches backwards for the unexpected reaction. He scowls and opens his mouth but Jason places his hand on Tim’s arm.

"Tim, we’ll be late," Jason reminds. Tim was about snap something back at Damian, something he’d probably regret later but Jason’s interference is timed perfectly. Tim closes his mouth firmly and nods. The two get up and leave the room. Bruce’s eyes are cold and full of contempt when his gaze shifts to Damian.

"I expect more from you," Bruce says and gets up too. He straightens his tie and walks out.

Damian is staring at his plate. Bruce isn’t even his real dad, just a guise his Mother crafted for him so that he could infiltrate the Bat-family and use them and their resources for his Mother’s purpose. But still it hurts to hear his “Father” sees him as a disappointment.

Dick clears his throat.

"Want to go smacking some heads together tonight?" he asks. Damian tries to hide his smile.

"Sure."

"But no killing. Or Bruce is going to try and ground me too."

"Try?"

"Never worked out well," he explains simply and pushes himself up to his feet, "didn’t stop him from trying, though."

Damian is left alone to the kitchen, wondering why he came to Gotham in the first place.

– – –

The last rays of sunshine disappeared behind the horizon half an hour ago. The new night is confronted by two, dark figures lying on the edge of a high office building. Dick got a lead of this illegal guns transaction taking place here, tonight. They are both observing the grounds for even the slightest movement down in the alley.

Dick shifts restlessly (staying in one spot for more than a minute always makes him unsettled, damn acrobatics…) and glances at Damian who is lying so still he looks like a statue.

"So, when we go down there, I can’t really call you Damian, can I?" Dick asks so quietly that his voice is barely a whisper. Damian shrugs.

"Tt. Then don’t call me anything."

"Come on, little assassin. Pick up a name."

"No."

"Then I’m calling you little assassin."

"You’re enjoying this a bit too much, Grayson," Damian sighs.

"Nightwing," Dick corrects and shrugs, "and it really is the only way to stay sane."

"What about Batman?"

"He’s not exactly an example of healthy life."

"Hey, there’s something going on down there," Damian notes, finally shutting up Dick’s relentless chatter.

The alley has fallen under an enchanting silence. Two gangs are approaching each other and when they meet in the middle, both gangs spread to cover the whole alleyway. Several threats are traded and then they get down to business. When Dick and Damian think they’ve seen enough to confirm the need of their interference, they exchange a glance.

"Let’s go, little assassin?"

Dick flips over the edge and lands between the two gangs. Then he straightens up and grins.

"Hello everyone! My name is Nightwing and the party is over!" he declares.

"Really, Nightwing? Dramatic much?" Damian mocks. He follows the man and lands next to him just as the gangs recover of their surprise and open fire. Damian is on the move before anyone can aim well enough to actually hit him.

"Perfect performance requires perfect entrance," Dick defends. He’s somewhere behind Damian, his words chimed with fizzing sounds his escrima sticks let out when they send shocking waves of electricity running through the gangers.

Damian rolls his eyes. He can hear Dick fighting but he doesn’t have time to check how the young man is doing. He has his hands full with evading bullets and making sure no-one escapes without killing anyone. Seriously, how much easier it would be if he didn’t have to hold back.

To his own surprise Damian finds himself exhaling with relief when Dick’s bubbly chatter fills up the alley. A collection of puns, jokes and just overall banter makes the low-level criminals go crazy while Dick dances around them, always close but always just out of reach.

Damian revels in the dark joy the violence brings to him. He feels all of the pent-up energy flow out with all the punches, kicks and cuts. Pure instincts control his movements and his mind feels empty until he and Dick are the only ones standing on the street.

"GCPD is on their way," Dick says and turns to Damian, "let’s make sure they get everyone and then we can –"

Dick freezes in the middle of the sentence.

Damian breathes in sharply. He’s holding bloody knives in his hands. He looks around. All he can see is blood and bodies. He gasps for breath and drops the knives. Suddenly the twisted pleasure and joy rushing through his veins turn into terrifying horror. He’s not Bruce’s son. He’s not a hero. But he promised.

And at the moment Dick is the only one who believes in him. Damian can’t lose the tokens of trust Dick has granted him.

"I’m… I’m sorry. I- I didn’t…"

Dick checks the pulse of the nearest thug. Relief shines out on his face.

"Alive. Check everyone."

A few are dead but it’s hard to tell if it’s because of Damian’s knives or bullet wounds. When you put twenty guys and as many guns on a narrow street it ends up with a few deaths, so Dick tells him not to take it too hard on himself. The ones that are passed out have bad wounds but Dick is pretty sure they can all be treated, even if there might be some permanent damage. And Damian is able to breathe again. He could care less if he had killed all of the guys. But if he had broken the kill rule again in a more… drastic way than this, Bruce would never trust him.

And then the police arrive. Dick talks with Commander Gordon for a minute and then he and Damian leave the scene.

During the night they stop a bank robbery, three muggings and Dick quickly assists Batman and Robin with the Penguin investigation they have going on. Damian follows them from the shadows and feels accomplished when Tim says to Batman that he feels like they’re being watched.

Toward the end of the night they have a surprising run-in with Catwoman.

They are sitting on the rooftop of Gotham Central Bank when Damian senses someone behind them. He gets up, spins around and throws a batarang (stolen from Batcave…) without bothering to check who the newcomer is.

A whiplash later it lets out a weak ‘clink’ when it hits the roof. Dick jumps to his feet to confront the threat he thinks Damian sensed but when he sees it’s Catwoman he smiles and relaxes, much to Damian’s surprise.

"I think it’s my favorite cat!"

"Just my luck, is it not, Nightwing?" Catwoman purrs.

"Batman is busy with the Penguin tonight so we do the regulars," Dick says almost apologetically. Damian’s jaw is about to drop.

"Oh, I know, honey. But you’re a bit on my way."

"Sorry about that. But if you promise to play nice, I think I can close my eyes so you can hide and wait until Batman is unoccupied again."

"How generous of you –"

"Nightwing what are you _doing?_ " Damian exclaims, "she’s a criminal!"

"Oh, little Timmy was right about young mister Wayne. He is an arrogant little snot," Catwoman sighs. Damian flinches and looks a bit startled.

" _How does she know?!_ " Damian yells at Dick.

"Selina is a friend. Sort of, uh, it’s a bit complicated."

"You know her _name?_ "

Damian feels ready to explode. Dick and _Catwoman_ are having a chat on the roof of the Central Bank. She knows who Damian is, and apparently who Dick and Tim are too. And no-one bothered to tell him?

"Like I said. Complicated," Dick repeats, "long story short, she and Bruce had _-have-_ an affair. She figured out who we are, never told anyone. We go back a long time, me and her. She basically watched me grow up."

The boy notices how Dick whispers the word ‘have’ into the sentence. He won’t say anything to that. But he certainly has _something_ to say.

"She’s still a criminal. We can’t let her run free!"

"We’ll prevent a bank robbery, sorry Selina not today, and let Batman do the chasing. You can try that if you want to, though. But she is almost as fast as me and a lot meaner so, good luck with that."

"Oh, Dick, I like it when you get all serious. It reminds me of Bruce," Catwoman laughs. Damian scowls.

"Don’t mention it, kitten," Dick chuckles and winks. She gives them a little laugh and disappears into the night without a sound. Dick looks over at Damian who is still scowling.

"She’s a tease," he defends.

Damian rolls his eyes.

– – –

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same for the second chapter, dashes to quotations.


	3. Welcomes and goodbyes

Time flies past them. First it’s two weeks then suddenly two months.

Bruce is starting to trust that Damian won’t kill anyone if he’s left unsupervised so he’s free to come and go the way he wants. On daytime. The tension in the Manor is still high because Bruce declines to give him permission to go on patrol. And Tim _still_ doesn’t trust Damian a bit. But they have found a mutual agreement to avoid each other the best they can.

Jason is practically always out so Damian doesn’t have to deal with him much but he seems like the only one who isn’t bothered by the fact that Damian is technically raised an assassin. Well, there is Dick too but it’s different. Dick doesn’t approve killing but he isn’t obsessed with Damian’s every error. He just accepts.

Damian has kept Talia up to date with the events. She hasn’t tasked him with anything yet but has advised him to keep his eyes and ears open. After all, his primary job is to act as an undercover agent in the Bat-family (Batman is an enemy. And al Ghuls want to be ready for everything) but she did say that there are _little things_ he has to both arrange and shatter, like meetings, deals and lives.

“Ready to go, little assassin?”

Dick is sitting on Damian’s windowsill, dressed in the Nightwing costume. Damian takes a last look into the mirror, turns back to Dick and nods. Without a word they swing into the night like on so many nights before.

Damian smiles by himself when they go look for some trouble on the Gotham streets. And for the city that Gotham is, trouble is a never-ending resource.

“You know,” Dick begins as they jump off a roof, “you really should pick yourself a name aside from Damian.”

Damian shoots a line to another building while Dick practically flies beside him, not bothering to use the grapple Damian knows he has. The boy can remember a time at the breakfast table when Jason proposed that Dick has made a deal with the Devil so that he can ignore gravity. What made it more uncomfortable was that Dick didn’t respond in any way to this suggestion.

“Why?”

“Do you really think being called ‘little assassin’ makes you sound authentic?”

“Absolutely not. That’s why I’d like for you to stop using it,” Damian states, releases his line and shoots another all the while he’s still in the air. Dick shakes his head and follows his change of direction with a fluid flip. The grace of his movements is admirable.

“Anyways, that’s not going to happen until you figure out a name.”

“Shut up, Grayson.”

“Gladly. Where we going?”

“I saw something.”

They go after what Damian saw and stop a car heist. After that Alfred informs Dick that the smugglers he’s been after for almost a month have surfaced again.

“Sometimes you need help getting rid of bad habits,” Dick says to no-one in particular as they set out on their way to the coordinates Alfred sent to Dick. Damian scowls.

“What?”

“They smuggle weapons, explosions, cigarettes and drugs, Dami. Addictions can be dangerous. Sometimes, you need outside help.”

Damian shakes his head.

“Your sense of humor is even worse when you’re not fighting anyone.”

“Oh? Even Joker thinks I’m funny. And he’s very picky of jokes.”

“Really, Nightwing? You’re joking about _that?_ ”

Dick shrugs. Damian rolls his eyes. Soon after that they’re standing outside a warehouse where the smugglers apparently have holed up. Dick kicks the warehouse doors open. The warehouse is filled with huge crates and stinking air. In the middle they see twelve guys arguing over something about their cargo. Damian feels almost sorry for them when they notice the unofficial version of the dynamic duo.

“Nightwing!”

“Missed me?” Nightwing asks. Damian rolls his eyes.

There’s a thing about partnering up with Dick. He doesn’t plan. He just goes in and improvises. Not really the best way to go when you have a fifteen-year-old partner with a tendency for killing instilled to his blood.

They dive right into the chaos arisen among the smugglers. Damian laughs out loud like maniac while he sends out waves of pain in the form of punches, kicks and stolen batarangs. He's focused into the fight so he can't really see Dick but the young man's endless banter rings in Damian's ears whenever the men cease from their screaming.

“I lost track of you weeks ago! And you didn’t bother to send even a card,” Dick pouts somewhere behind the boy. Damian can’t help but sigh.

“Sorry, Nightwing,” their leader apologizes and limps forward to lean over a crate. A self-satisfied smile twists his face horrifically. He's holding a trigger in his hands. _They already know what's waiting for them_ , Damian's thoughts trail in a split-second.

“A bomb!” Damian yells bouncing into alert. _Maybe they'll try to take Nightwing down with them._

“Let’s fix that with a warm welcome!”

And he lets go of the trigger.

In fractions of a second, multiple things happen at the same time. Dick jumps towards Damian and pushes him to the ground. The explosions in the cargo fire up all at the same time. Damian realizes these were his Mother’s subordinates. And that he actually had a task – to wait for these guys.

But none of that matters now.

He hits the ground and Dick tumbles over him. Suffocating heat blows over them and the shock wave throws them into the air. Damian hits the ground outside the warehouse and small debris rains over him. Soot covers his skin and torn clothes. His clothes. The material must’ve protected him from the blast, there’s no other way he could’ve survived that.

His eyes dim but they keep on searching for Dick. Nightwing _has_ to be there somewhere.

Then his blurred gaze fixes on a motionless lump of clothes.

“Grayson!” Damian’s weak voice calls. He doesn’t even care if someone else can hear him. He has to know.

“Grayson,” he repeats and coughs. His field of vision is narrowing and his grip of reality is slipping.

“Dick, please…”

And then Damian can see nothing but black.

– – –

“Master Damian?”

Alfred knocks on Damian’s door again. No answer.

“Master Damian, I’m coming in.”

After all, Bruce _did_ ask him to check on the boy from time to time. He hasn’t complained about not being allowed on patrol for some time now and has been awfully quiet during the latest nights. In addition Alfred knows how infuriated master Richard is at Bruce for denying Damian from patrolling.

And if master Jason has the ultimate record of disobeying _rules_ , master Richard has the ultimate record of disobeying _direct orders_. So when Bruce directly ordered Richard to _‘not to interfere in this matter’_ Alfred knew outright that it would the exact opposite of what Richard was planning to do. (Not that Bruce would have listened when Alfred pointed this out to him…)

And given that Damian was and is more than eager to take up any occurring opportunity to get out there, into the action, it wouldn’t surprise Alfred if the two had teamed up.

The butler shakes himself back to the reality.

He tries to open the door. It’s locked (of course) but if the butler of the multi-billionaire Bruce Wayne _and_ Batman couldn’t get through a locked door in a manor that is technically _his_ , what kind of butler would he be?

_Certainly not a good one_ , Alfred thinks to himself after he easily opens the door.

His eyebrows rise in surprise, although he knows he shouldn’t be. The room is empty. The red curtains oscillate in the light night wind that blows through the open window. The temperature has dropped a few degrees and makes Alfred shiver of cold.

He places a pile of clothes on Damian’s bed and checks the bathroom. Empty. He sighs.

“Please come home in one piece,” Alfred breathes out, “I _don’t_ want to be the one explaining this to master Bruce.”

And that’s exactly when his communicator lights up.

“ _Alfred?_ ” Richard’s voice breathes weakly into the comm.

“Yes, master Richard?”

“ _I have a situation at -ach- a warehouse in the harbor. Can you please inform Gordon of an explosion at the coordinates you gave me? I’ll have to -ugh- get myself to –_ “

The line disconnects.

“Master Richard? Master Richard!”

The _first_ thing Alfred does is signal Batman of an emergency.

The _second_ thing is tip Gordon.

– – –


	4. Trust

He’s lying on clean sheets in the soft darkness. He feels sore and aching with pain. He touches his skin carefully, only to notice someone has cleaned, bandaged and tied up his wounds. A warning bell rings in his mind and he is sharp in alert.

He opens his eyes cautiously. At first the light is too much for him and he can’t make out a single detail from the brightness but it doesn’t take him long to be able to start examining the unfamiliar room with his attentive gaze.

He has been placed on a narrow bed in the corner of a huge room. On a nearby couch is sitting a man trying to desperately tie up his own burned, bruised and bloodied chest. His tight, black suit is torn and wrapped clumsily down to his hips, leaving his chest bare in the chilling air. Nightwing. Damian swallows. He’s alive. The boy attempts to get up but is left groaning with pain and has to slump back onto the bed. Dick’s intense, blue eyes snap into Damian’s direction flooded with guilt and something else. Maybe worry?

“Damian.”

He sounds relieved.

“Hey. What the hell…? How did we…?”

Dick gets up and walks up to the bed. Damian makes him room on the edge. He sits down and sighs with exhaustion.

“I woke up a little after, dragged you out of there. We’re in my nearest safe house. Is it hurting still?”

“Not all the time. Just when I try to move,” Damian answers, “what about you?”

“I’ll manage.”

“Uh-huh. Bring the med kit. Your attempt in first aid is miserable.”

Dick grins and limps to get the kit. He helps Damian into a sitting position (for what Damian feels utterly mortified) and hands him the kit. Damian’s hands work with resolve and practiced precision. A few minutes later he leans away to look at his handiwork.

“Will do,” he says more to himself than to Dick.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Damian hums. Something lights up in his mind. He must’ve frowned because Dick looks suddenly worried.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah, just, Bruce will never ever trust me again. How am I going to explain _this?_ ”

“Rough sex?” Dick offers grinning. Damian stares at Dick until he shifts uncomfortably.

“Seriously, Grayson? You get blown out to the sky and you don’t lose your sense of humor for even a minute?”

“Like said, best way to stay sane,” Dick defends, “but really, don’t worry about Bruce. I’ll figure something out.”

Damian nods, thankful that he won’t have to worry about it yet.

“I should have something to eat here somewhere. I’ll be right back. _Don’t_ try to get up,” Dick orders and limps out of a door to a smaller room.

Damian slumps backwards. He exhales deep and decides to go over what he remembers, to get some clarity to things.

His Mother’s thugs just blew him and Dick into the sky. It makes Damian angrier than what it probably should. He has ruined a plan (probably a small one but still) Talia had sprouting. She will be _mad_ – incredibly mad – but that Damian can handle. It wasn’t _he_ who released that mischievous trigger.

And he has an idea how to turn this thing into his favor.

So when Dick comes back with leftover pizza and coke, Damian says he just realized something.

“Those were my Mother’s people. They had the al Ghul sigil carved into a crate. I only noticed it when we flew to ground and I practically hit my head into it,” Damian explains.

“What, you knew who they were?”

“Only after it was too late. And there’s another thing but you’ll have to promise you’ll listen.”

Okay this was a risk. But if he was to succeed, Nightwing’s trust would be his.

“Of course,” Dick promises. He passes Damian a slice of pizza and a coke can. The boy accepts them but places them aside. Dick’s eyebrows rise.

“Must be important,” he mutters.

“It is. Okay. I’ve been in contact with my Mother. We’ve been talking on the phone and texting and –”

“ _What?_ ” Dick interrupts. His tone of voice is hurt.

“Please, Grayson, listen. I think she sent me here intending to use me against Batman. But I don’t want that. I don’t want to be a tool, a pawn in her plans. And a few days ago we had an argument. It ended up with me declaring I’ve found a better home here in Gotham and she announcing I’m now considered an enemy of the house of al Ghul.”

“Just like that?”

“She told me that siding with you makes me not worthy of the al Ghul name.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I _have_ found a better home here. But there’s more. I think those smugglers were sent in for a kamikaze mission. They were _supposed_ to broker some deal but I believe they got new orders from my Mother after our argument.”

“You think it was a trap?”

“A message,” Damian corrects. Dick takes a sip of his coke and nods slowly.

“In a twisted way that makes sense. What do you want to do?”

“Show my Mother I’m not scared. And best way to do that is to keep going,” Damian declares. Dick grins proudly.

“Oh, I like that.”

Damian grins too and grabs the pizza plate. _He did it._

He should probably feel accomplished or proud or successful but all he can think about is how genuine and happy Dick’s smile was when Damian said that he had found a better home in Gotham.

He should probably feel self-satisfied or safe or relieved but all he feels is the emptiness in his heart and the weight of lies on his shoulders.

– – –

The Wayne Manor. Front door.

Someone knocks on the doors. Alfred goes to open and much to his surprise Damian is standing right there. His hair is ruffled and he looks like he’s hurting but otherwise he looks okay. He’s holding up unconscious Dick in his arms. Dick is still in his Nightwing costume but it’s torn and burnt like the man himself.

“Master Damian? May I ask where you have been?”

“Yes, you may but don’t expect an answer,” Damian sighs and drags Dick in. Tim appears in the kitchen doorway. His eyes widen when he notices Dick.

“What the hell did you do to him, you little demon?” Tim yells and marches forward.

“Calm down, Drake,” Damian orders and pushes him backwards when he comes too close.

“What happened?”

“He went to take down some smugglers. They blew the whole place up. I intercepted the call he made to Alfred and went out to save his ass.”

“And didn’t bother to call us?” Tim quizzes angrily.

“You sound hurt, Drake. Missed me that much?”

Tim blinks.

“Tt. Didn’t think so,” Damian mutters, “Alfred, can you please take him? For an acrobat who disagrees with laws of gravity he certainly is heavy.”

Dick’s eyes flutter open. He rolls off of Damian’s arms and tries to jump onto his feet. He fails and collapses down to the floor. Then he glances around with confusion.

“…the hell?”

“Damian dragged you out,” Tim says offering Dick a hand. Dick takes it and allows Tim to help him up. Then he pulls the younger boy into a tight hug.

“It was close,” he sighs, “I thought I wasn’t going to wake up again.”

Tim nods. They lean away and smile at each other. Dick turns to Damian.

“Thank you, Dami,” he says.

“Oh, don’t you even think about hugging me. I wouldn’t want to tie your wounds again,” Damian warns. He takes a step back and crosses his arms over his chest.

“You have my word,” Dick promises.

“I would like to have a word too, Damian,” Bruce’s cold voice announces. Damian gazes at his father standing on the upper end of the broad stairs. Then he glances at Dick who smiles and tries to look encouraging.

Damian feels his heart sink even lower under its burden.

– – –


	5. Ready if you are

Damian follows Bruce into his office. The dark wood panels and high bookshelves create a suffocating atmosphere to the silent room. Bruce turns around leans against his sturdy desk. Damian sits down on the arm rest of a dark red couch.

The pressure of the silence is overwhelming.

“Damian,” Bruce finally begins, “I seriously don’t know what to make of you.”

“Father, please –”

“No, let me finish. When your mother sent you here, I thought she hoped you would distract me. And I kept my distance. But seeing you talk and interact with Dick makes me realize I haven’t treated you fairly. When you went missing last night I was worried _dead_. It feels disrespecting to find out you were just disobeying the one rule I set for you.”

“Grayson was in trouble!”

“I was going to handle it!” Bruce shouts. Damian frowns and leans back. Bruce sighs.

“This is exactly what I mean,” he continues, “we don’t know how to be around each other.”

“What do you want to do about it?” Damian asks emotionlessly. Bruce rubs his temples like he had a headache.

“I do not know. That’s what I want to talk about.”

“I want to stay here.”

The words escape his lips quicker than he intended them to. Apparently Bruce can hear the desperation in Damian’s voice because his response comes in a lot gentler tone than anything he has said ever before.

“Yes, I’d like you to stay. But until you can obey a direct order I can’t _trust_ you.”

_Show it hurts not to be trusted._ Damian’s gaze shifts to his feet. Bruce reminds him of grandfather Ra’s with all that talk about rules and obeying like Damian was a dog. _I’m not his son_ , the boy tells himself once again. But it still stings.

“I understand.”

“You’re still grounded from patrol. But this time I want to learn to trust you and not just push you away. Do you think we can make it work?”

Damian looks up. _Look hopeful._

“Yes, Father. I think we can. Thank you.”

Bruce smiles lightly.

“Off you go, son.”

Damian sighs with relief when he walks out. He wanders around the hallways when he suddenly remembers Dick’s face when Bruce asked him to come with him. He turns around and heads to the Batcave where Alfred took Dick to check his wounds and see if they need better care.

Damian rubs his neck and fixes the placement of a bandage. He could use further medical care too. His whole body is still sore from the explosion. He sneaks into the Batcave to wait until Alfred has gone and then he can tell Dick that Bruce really wasn’t mad (more like… sad) and maybe beg him to go out tonight. He stumbles in but hides behind a corner when he hears that the two are talking.

“I trust him, Alfie. Tim says I shouldn’t but he can’t see it. They haven’t worked together like we have. They don’t understand each other,” the acrobat explicates as an answer to something Alfred asked before Damian came.

Alfred nods.

“I see, Richard. But master Bruce specifically forbid patrolling from him.”

“When have I ever done what Bruce tells me to?” Dick asks and grins like a ten-year-old. Alfred smiles so lightly it could easily be missed.

“True. But Bruce doesn’t yet trust master Damian so are you sure you’re doing him a favor? Or acting out of selfishness?”

“I’d suspect the latter if he wasn’t so burning to get out there. _My_ reasons, however, are totally the latter since I’ve been patrolling alone for so long it’s nice to have someone watch my back.”

“I thought Nightwing loved patrolling alone?”

“ _Nightwing_ does, _Dick Grayson_ doesn’t. And the reason of me leaving was more about the chemistry between me and Bruce. I mean, he’s great and I love him as my father and a mentor but there are things we don’t agree on and, well, things work better this way,” Dick explains. He shifts restlessly before he gets up to his feet and groans with pain. Alfred pushes him back down to the bunk.

“Sit down. I’ll bring you something to eat as I stitch those cuts.”

Alfred turns towards Damian who hides deeper into the shadows. When the door closes behind him, Dick stares directly into Damian.

“You can come out, Dami. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“You told him that we have been patrolling?” Damian hisses, “he’ll tell my Father and everything will be ruined.”

Then he grimaces when a spike of pain strikes through him. Dick tells him to calm down and not to rip his wounds open.

“You give Alfred far too little credit. You can trust him,” the man continues.

“Maybe you can. I trust no-one.”

Dick tilts his head and pushes himself into a sitting position.

“Sounds lonely,” he simply says. Damian opens his mouth to answer something snarky but comes to another conclusion.

“Do you want to go on patrol tonight?” Damian asks instead. Dick notices how he changed the subject but doesn’t continue to push it. It’s one of Dick’s best traits really, that he never urges other people business when they are uncomfortable with it.

“I haven’t had a day off for a year.”

“Is that a no?”

“Quite the opposite,” Dick says grinning. “Regular time on your windowsill?”

“I’ll wait for you, Nightwing,” Damian promises. Then he hides into the shadows because Alfred is coming in.

“Counting on it, little assassin,” Dick whispers by himself.

Damian sneaks out of the Batcave and slumps down to his bed. First he calls his Mother, they talk for a few minutes and Damian tells her about the smugglers. Then before she can explode like the warehouse did he explains how he turned it around to make Dick trust him even more. Talia takes it surprisingly well and praises Damian shortly.

Then the boy sets an alarm and tries to catch some sleep before Nightwing will be knocking on his window.

He’s able to fall asleep but sees only nightmares about Dick finding out Damian lied to him.

– – –

Dick suits up just as Tim and Jason walk in. Bruce left town for some international Batman mission after his talk with Damian, and Tim will be joining him tomorrow. But tonight Jay and Tim will patrol together.

Dick puts on his mask and offers them half a smile when he passes them and heads out. He knows they are grateful he left early because that gives them a little “alone time”. They haven’t told Bruce yet that they are _together_ and honestly Dick isn’t looking forward to that. It’ll be a storm.

_Actually_ , he thinks while he swings out and circles the Manor to get to Damian’s window, _I shouldn’t know either. But it’s not my fault Jay never locks his door. And I even knocked._

At first they were mad because they thought Dick would be disgusted and tell Bruce before they were ready but he got them reassured that he would never tell Bruce if they didn’t want him to. And that it really isn’t his job to judge _anyone_.

Love is what it is. You can’t tell it what to do. You have to just live with the picks it makes.

He knocks on Damian’s window. The boy jumps up from his bed and rushes to open the window. Dick lounges languidly on the windowsill, following Damian’s hurried movements with amuse. The boy changes his shirt (dammit, how does a fifteen-year-old look like a Greek god?), combs his hair into control and puts on his mask.

“Wow. Two minutes and twenty seconds,” Dick teases, “a new record?”

“Shut up, Grayson.”

“Ah, you’re just mad I caught you sleeping. You look far less angry and dangerous when you’re sleeping, Princess Aurora. Plus Jay owes me five. He made a bet you don’t need sleep at all.”

“I thought I told you to shut up,” Damian snaps. 

“Didn’t Bruce tell you? I come with no filter and zero obedience!” Dick declares and chuckles. He ruffles Damian’s hair teasingly before giving him way and diving into the darkness. Sighing Damian swings after him.

“Can I get you in silent? And what Drake bet on?”

“You don’t want me to repeat that. He seriously doesn’t like you.”

“Feeling is mutual,” Damian mutters.

“Why do you hate each other so much?” Dick asks curiously.

“You’re a ray of rainbows and sunshine, Grayson. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

Then they arrive into the city and note immediately a handful of members of a gang they’ve been looking for some time. Damian decides to use it as his opportunity to dodge the question, and Dick allows him to. They drop between the men and cause a long, silent moment which Dick sees as his cue for a dramatic entrance.

“The party don’t start ‘til I walk iiin!” Dick sings and punches the closest guy. Damian rolls his eyes and picks his own victims. He evades their clumsy attacks, ignores their banter about his size and focuses on dropping men left and right. Dick’s sharp, fast movements allow him to be everywhere around the fight so he protects Damian’s back while the boy keeps their attention in himself. It’s a good tactic that comes to them so naturally Dick is surprised to remember they have only worked together two months or so, rather than many years.

They knock out the fighters and tie them up for the police to pick up but they get a signal on the GCPD frequency of a bank robbery screaming Two-Face. They head straight to the location only just in time to see a black van gassing away from the back.

Dick glances at Damian.

“Ready for Two-Face, little assassin?”

“I thought we agreed on no stupid questions,” Damian snorts.

“He’s smarter than he seems, Dami.”

“We’ll see about that.”

– – –


	6. Everyone has two faces

Batcave. The next night.

“Sooooo, we’re alone tonight,” Dick reminds and pushes closer to Damian who has his nose glued to the screens and is trying to sniff out Two-Face’s hideout.

Damian flushes but shoves Dick firmly away.

“I’m trying to work, Grayson.”

Dick sighs and leans back in his chair. He fiddles with his escrimas and stares at Damian with overacted hurt.

“You’re no fun.”

“That’s why I get things done,” Damian mutters without taking his eyes off of the screens. Dick sighs again and jumps up to his feet. He walks a few feet away, picks up the first aid bunk’s pillow and measures it in his hands.

Damian’s nose hits the screen when something soft hits the back of his head. The screen zooms in to a lone estate. The pillow is lying in Damian’s feet. Damian freezes and turns around to face Dick who grins innocently.

“It wasn’t me!”

“Who then? We’re alone in the whole Manor!” Damian fizzes.

“Exactly, you example of poor sense of humor!” Dick taunts and dances around a bit, “no need to pretend the grumpy little assassin.”

“First of all I’m not that little. Second I’m not pretending and third I’m not _grumpy._ ”

“Well, depends on your definition of grumpy,” Dick insist. Damian rolls his eyes and turns back to the monitors. His eyes widen.

“I found it!”

“What, your sense of humor?”

“Shut up, Grayson. Two-Face. When your immature actions made me hit my nose into the screen, it zoomed to the location I’ve been looking for.”

“See? Can’t hurt to smile every once in a while,” Dick points out with something certainly smug in his tone. Damian doesn’t bother to answer. Dick’s expression languishes a bit.

“Hm. My jokes go to a perfect waste with such an ungrateful audience.”

“Gear up, Grayson.”

“You’re pretty bossy to be 5’6” tall.”

“Shut up.”

"Impossible,” Dick reminds. Damian rolls his eyes.

In fifteen minutes they are crouching on the rooftop of the location Damian found. Dick peeks in from a window.

“He has ten armed thugs. Judging by their looks they are arguing about the lost plunder.”

Damian smiles with dark satisfaction.

“Lights out, literally?” Dick asks.

“Wow. Are you making a plan?”

“My plans usually suck. That’s why I don’t make them.”

“Good point,” Damian admits. His answer could almost be taken as an insult. Dick just grins. He flips backwards off the roof and crashes in from the window. Damian activates a device that burns all the fuses and therefore switches off the lights. Then he follows Dick in.

“What’s happening?” someone screams.

“Your worst Nightwing,” Dick growls, his voice pitched so low it makes cold shivers run down Damian’s spine.

_Seriously, Grayson?_ Damian thinks to himself since he can’t say it out loud.

He switches on his night goggles and checks the state of play. Six thugs remain armed. Two are squirming at Dick’s feet in pain, the last two are unconscious. It’s noisy and chaotic but Damian is _used_ to chaotic. After all, he’s been working with Dick over two months already. Finally the young assassin spots Two-Face. The criminal leader is crouching in a corner, searching for cover when someone opens fire. Dick takes the shooter out as fast as he can but the guy still manages to accidentally shoot two of his comrades.

Damian jumps into the action – staying out of Nightwing’s gracefully bouncy way – and picks his own targets which he then proceeds to eliminate with a carefully chosen set of moves, while all the time holding an eye on Two-Face.

Then suddenly Two-Face stops his desperate scrambling and pulls out a gun. He starts shooting blindly into the dark, not caring if he hit his own men or the vigilante duo. A bullet bounces off Damian’s suit. The boy growls and decides to take on Two-Face. The man apparently can make out something off the darkness so he notices Damian closing in on him. He lifts the gun and points it between Damian’s eyes.

The assassin’s prowly advance comes to a halt.

“Heads or tails, little one?”

“Assassin?” Dick’s sharp and worried voice inquires.

Damian doesn’t dare to move. He can hear only three persons breathing in the large room – Dick, Two-Face and himself. If he makes one wrong move, there’ll only be two persons breathing.

“Assassin?” Two-Face echoes, “a bit young to be one, aren’t you? Now, heads or tails?”

The man fixes his grip of the gun and lifts it a little. His gaze shifts quickly to Dick’s shadowy figure while Damian is frantically thinking what to do. The boy can see what Two-Face is thinking.

_If I kill Nightwing first, I should be able to kill the little one, too…_

Damian’s anger boils over inside him. The boy isn’t even sure which fact angers him more. That Two-Face underestimates him or that the man’s thinking about killing Dick.

“Heads,” Damian says.

He moves so quickly that the unfocused Two-Face is taken by surprise. Damian hits a pressure point in the man’s elbow and steps on his hand. The gun clatters to the ground. The man tries to hit Damian with his other hand but the boy grabs it too and lays Two-Face on his back. Then he lifts the man’s arms and Dick straps plastic cuffs around his wrists.

Damian stares at Two-Face for a little while. Then he punches his murderously glaring face so hard that the man loses his consciousness.

“Progress,” Dick compliments.

“What?”

“You didn’t even think about killing him.”

“How would you know?”

“I can see it in your eyes. Progress,” Dick explains and sends a signal to the police. Damian snorts but in his mind he curses. If Dick can get into his head that easily… how can he ever carry out his mission with pride? And once again Damian wonders if he even wants to anymore.

“Don’t they ever get bored of this?” Damian asks and hops to sit on Two-Face’s desk. Dick scowls.

“Who and of what?”

“The police, of running after us picking up smacked out criminals with post-it notes stuck on them if we have already moved on.”

“Oh _that_. I don’t think so. Gordon said the cops like me,” Dick shrugs and leans next to Damian.

“ _Everyone_ likes you, Grayson."

“Deathstroke surely doesn’t. And mister Two-Face here. And a few more of whom I can’t think of right now.”

“Villains don’t count. Except that even _some of them_ like you.”

“I liked the little “heads” thing you did before hitting him,” Dick says changing the subject. It annoys Damian a bit. He doesn’t even know why and that annoys him even more.

“’The “heads” thing’ was just to keep him unfocused.”

“Tell that to yourself, little assassin.”

“Shut up, Grayson.”

“You’re starting to repeat yourself, honey,” Dick teases. Damian tries to hit him but he dances out of his reach while laughing quietly. He writes a quick post-it note, sticks it on Two-Face and flips out of the window. The police sirens wail outside the hideout. Damian looks quickly around and swings after him. They follow the situation from the rooftop across the street and when the police have collected everyone they move onto other things.

And when they finally call it a night, Damian is almost too tired to hit the shower. It was a busy night with countless robberies, a few murder attempts and another run-in with the Catwoman. (Damian certainly does not like her…)

Also Nightwing ran his mouth non-stop through the night.

Overall, it was a good night.

– – –

Dick walks in carrying a tray with their light supper packed on it. The living room bathes in the atmospheric light of the candles Damian has lighted up. The boy himself has slumped against the couch and is snuffling softly.

Dick places the tray on a wine cabin and watches Damian while a gentle smile sneaks on his face. He considers waking up the boy but can’t quite bring himself to shaking him up from that calm and relaxed state of mind he seems to have found in his sleep, far away from his stresses of this reality.  
He sidles closer to blow out the candles and returns to the doorway.

“I’ll deny ever seeing that,” he promises and takes the tray back to the kitchen. He eats a bit, then he washes the dishes and sneaks back into the living room.

He doesn’t know why and what but there’s something about the dark, young man that pulls Dick towards him like a magnet, in ways even Dick himself can’t anticipate yet.

He shakes his head and decides to get some sleep.

Maybe his thoughts are brought back on track with a short timeout.

– – –


	7. A day off

The first rays of sunshine shake him up from his nightmares in which he’s in a dark room and Two-Face has a gun pointed between his eyes. _The thing_ is that most of the time these dreams don’t end with his death but with someone else’s. Damian shivers and tries to push them away from his mind. He would never admit it but there’re _many_ reasons why the nightmares make his spine chill so much. He shouldn’t even care. He shouldn’t. But how could he not, in the case of this particular someone?

And exactly then the ‘particular someone’ drops down from the upper floor and rolls up to his feet in front of the sleepy boy. He spins around to face Damian, and his dark, short and wet hair sends drops of water flying into the air. They sparkle in the sunlight with the colors of a rainbow. The man stretches, and his grin reflects the sunshine like mirror.

“Morning, little assassin.”

“Would you stop calling me that, Grayson? It’s degrading,” Damian snaps clenching the pillow in his lap tighter.

“I think we spoke about this,” Dick replies jovially and then he bounces away like a super ball, taking long steps and plunging higher into the air with every jump. Damian shakes his head and falls back onto the couch.

Then suddenly Dick’s head peeks around the kitchen door frame.

“Help me with breakfast?” he pleads. Damian yawns.

Grayson’s idea of ‘breakfast’ is miserable. He seriously needs the help but Damian couldn’t bother to drag himself up from the comfy couch. He can still feel the after-burn from the explosion and the new pain from the bullets and kicks from last night. In the dark it’s easier to hit on intended targets when you can’t ruin your aim with too much thinking.

Something made of metal lets out a violent clang when it hits the floor. Dick mutters something like “damn acrobatics…” but Damian can’t be sure. He sighs.  
“I’m coming.”

– – –

After the catastrophe called ‘breakfast’ they take their coffee cups and sit on the Manor’s porch to enjoy of the perfect summer weather. Dick asks if Damian would like to go out to the city and do something nice.

“Our ideas of nice differ a lot, Grayson.”

“True. But what if both got to decide one thing we’ll do?” Dick suggests. He lounges back into a more comfortable position and drinks the rest of his coffee.

“Fine. I want to go to a shooting range.”

Dick almost spits out his coffee. Damian smirks with dark joy.

“Seriously, Damian?”

“Technically both got to decide,” Damian reminds gleefully. Dick shakes his head but the smile on his face makes the motion less offending.

“Okay. We go shooting and after that we go swimming.”

“Swimming?” Damian asks with disbelief.

“What? Are you above the peculiar activity called swimming?” Dick mocks and tries force his hair to settle down.

“It’s acceptable,” Damian concedes. He places the empty cup beside himself and leans back to take a better position.

“Where do you want to go shooting?”

“I think maybe we should leave it to another time. Sunny days like this… aren’t that common here in Gotham than back at Mother’s place. But I _am_ going to hold you onto that.”

“Promise,” Dick swears, “okay, let’s pack. It’ll be a long day of doing nothing.”

They get up, take the coffee cups inside and pack their towels and something to eat into Dick’s backpack. The duo changes into swimming gear at the Manor because Damian obviously hates public cubicles. In the hall Dick tosses Damian a helmet and tells him to wait on the porch.

After a minute he corners around to pick the boy up on his motorcycle.

“Are you sure you know how to drive that, Grayson?” Damian asks with distrust.

“Of course,” Dick claims and grins. The assassin’s scowl deepens.

“I saw it when you drove Batmobile last week. _Can you drive like normal people?_ ”

Damian is expecting Dick to pretend that he’s hurt by the words or pout or frown or something like that but the man just grins and winks at Damian.

“Oh, Damian. You know _well_ we aren’t like normal people.”

Then he pulls Damian by the hip to sit behind him and gasses out of the front yard. Damian’s fingers take a death grip on Dick’s waist.

“Grayson!” he screams.

“Never would’ve believed that a boy raised to be an assassin would be scared of motorcycles!” Dick taunts. Damian hits his shoulder angrily, claiming that he isn’t scared. Dick makes a sudden sideways movement and the younger boy yells out loud.

“Never hit the driver, little assassin!”

“Shut up, Grayson.”

Damian leans a bit back and breathes again. His thoughts start to trail around.

He has always endeavored towards respect and superiority. He never even gave it a thought that there might be someone in the world who could be his equal besides his family. So when he first came to Gotham and Dick acted so casually around him it made him feel underestimated. Not to mention that he has always hated nicknames, especially the ‘cute’ ones that portray him as a kid and not as the fighter that he is.

But Dick calling him ‘little assassin’… feels right. Good, even. Damian doesn’t even know why and finds himself to be angry at the fact. Maybe it feels normal because Dick is the only member of the ‘Batfamily’ who has become more than just a cover story, more than a target, more than an unknown enemy. He has become family. A brother.

Damian smiles by himself. He has never had a brother before. And he would never admit it out loud but the feeling is there nevertheless. It feels warm inside him and it’s not because of the sun shining upon them.

They arrive on the beach. Dick parks and gestures Damian to get off the bike.

It’s surprisingly calm on the beach. They picked a place far from the city and it is midday. People are working, kids are at school, and the water is still freezing.

Dick drops his backpack on the white sand and tosses off his shoes. Damian places his shoes neatly next to the man’s. He glances at Dick out of the corner of his eye. The man takes off his shirt and allows it to fall on the same pile with everything else. The sunlight plays on his bronze skin. He body is built slender and light but Damian is uncomfortably aware of how his muscles move, tensing and relaxing like he was never totally still. The man’s fluid elegance is mesmerizing, just like his every move is mercilessly captivating.

Dick is thoughtful enough to not to point out Damian is staring but they both know that’s the case. Damian coughs and begins to undress himself. Well, of course, he isn’t that bad himself. Jumping up and down from rooftops night after night even without counting the life training as assassin does things to your body and they are certainly not bad things. Damian ruffles his dark hair and in his mind he thinks with satisfaction that he doesn’t look like a fifteen-year-old.  
“Okay, showoff, you want to test the waves?” Dick chuckles. Damian flushes.

“Who’re you calling showoff, Grayson? I’m not the one who doesn’t use a grapple.”

“You can take the boy outta the circus but not the circus outta the boy!”

With that Dick practically flies into the ocean.

Damian shakes his head and follows.

– – –

The waves caress his burning skin. It’s freezing but refreshing. Dick smiles into the horizon and glances behind. Damian is standing ankle-deep and stares at Dick. There is something about his expression that makes Dick scowl with worry.

“What’s wrong, assassin?”

“Nothing,” he claims and swallows. Dick tilts his head.

“You know, you can tell me.”

Damian sighs and nods miserably. He looks so lost, so alone. Dick smiles with empathy and splatters water on Damian. The boy exclaims and jumps high into the air.

“What did you do that for?” Damian urges and splashes water back. Dick laughs and does it again.

“Come on, assassin,” he teases, “take a day off. Come here or I’ll drag you myself.”

Damian’s pout cracks but he pulls himself together quickly. He jumps forward and dives headfirst into the water. He touches Dick’s left leg when he swims past it underwater. Dick laughs and tries to dodge but Damian grabs his leg and pulls him under the surface.

They wrestle in the water, splash around, float on the waves, diving and swimming and enjoying. Dick performs a few tricks which he teaches to Damian. They mock and laugh at each other, and every time a chuckle escapes the boy’s lips Dick feels oddly proud. The two bat-brothers play around until their lips turn blue and their teeth start to clatter.

They take a diving contest to the shore. Damian wins because he’s skinnier and can dive closer to the shore.

“That’s unfair! You’re smaller than me!” Dick complains when Damian runs ahead and grabs his towel. Dick performs a perfect series of cartwheels and whirls sand all over the place. When he finally lands back on his feet Damian tosses him a towel. Dick wipes his face and hair with it and hangs it over his shoulders. His eyes fix on Damian who seems to have gotten completely lost into his own thoughts.

The boy is staring into the horizon where they can see the Gotham skyline. He looks sad. Dick’s grin languishes and he places his hand on Damian’s arm.

“Hey, Dami. Like I said earlier, if you ever need to talk to anyone, I’m here,” he says quietly. Damian winces and turns to glare at Dick.

“I don’t,” he hisses. His pale, blue eyes are cold and narrowed. Dick lifts his hands apologetically.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to –”

Damian cuts Dick off with a dismissing gesture.

“I know, Grayson. But I don’t need a shrink.”

“No shrinks. A friend, Damian,” Dick corrects and smiles. Damian hides it well but Dick can see the flash in his eyes. There’s a reaction to the word, a sign more meaningful than anything the boy could say.

“I’d like that,” Damian whispers. Dick takes a step forward to stand by the boy’s side. They both stare into the horizon.

“Me too,” Dick says softly.

– – –


	8. For you I would fight...

“I hate we have to do things this way.”

Tim rolls his eyes. It’s like the tenth time Jason complains about having to communicate through video chat. Since Tim is in Paris with Bruce and Alfred they don’t have that many choices.

“You’re just annoyed you can’t grope me like you do when we’re together,” Tim states. Jason smirks and shrugs.

“When are you coming back?”

“Batman says we’ll need at least a week.”

“A week?” Jason exclaims. “And you do know he does have a name besides Batman?”

“It’s not like you to bitch like that, Jay. Is everything okay?”

“I just miss my brother with benefits,” Jason taunts and offers him a smug smile, “well, at least I got to give him proper goodbyes.”

Tim flushes, and Jason laughs. His voice is husky and sexy and, frustratingly, it totally turns Tim on. He narrows his eyes to Jason.

“Would you stop that?”

“Stop what, little bird? Jason asks innocently. Tim huffs.

“Torturing me like that! It’s not my fault I’m stuck in Europe!

“Mm. But that’s what you like, isn’t it? Me, slowly torturing you through the night,” Jason whispers, “you _love_ giving up control, don’t you? And being with me is the only way you even can do so…”

The young man laughs. Low and dark, like only Jason can. Tim’s self-discipline is put to a test when he tries to dismiss the lust and temptation lurking around in the corners of his mind. Jason doesn’t need anything else besides his voice to get Tim under his charms.

“Enjoy your dirty little thoughts about me, little bird,” Jason purrs, “I’ll be waiting for you when you come back. And I’ll have my way with you until you beg for mercy.”

Red finds Tim’s cheeks faster than the last time. He ignores it and leans his chin on his crossed fingers.

“You’ll have to fight for that. I’ve been the sidekick non-stop for too many days. I’m feeling combative.”

“That makes it even more fun,” Jason smirks obscenely. Tim doesn’t even realize he’s licking his lips.

Suddenly he flinches into alert. Someone is approaching his door.

“I think Bruce is back. I have to go.”

“Play nice, little bird. Otherwise I’ll have to whip you,” Jason sings.

“Looking forward to that,” Tim affirms and winks.

He closes the laptop just as someone knocks on the door. Bruce walks in covered in bruises and blood, and he’s looking furious. Tim sighs.

_Here we go again_ , he thinks to himself, _the crime never ends._

– – –

Full moon. It’s always an interesting night on the Gotham streets. All kinds of psychos (you know the ones who have been thrown into the air three times but gotten caught only two times when they were babies) roam the streets forming a variety of ideas in their heads, every single one crazier than the one before.

“Does this never end?” Damian sighs and yawns. Dick shrugs.

“Good side: we’d be unemployed if it did.”

Damian turns to stare at him.

“Do I have to say it?”

“Nope, Dick announces quickly. Damian nods with satisfaction. Then Dick’s communicator clinks. Damian tilts his head and asks who the signal is from. Dick looks up.

“Red Hood. He says he got wind that the fight club is open again. Two blocks north from Arkham Asylum,” Dick tells.

Damian jumps up and swings into the direction Dick gave. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. In a wordless agreement they get on the move and use the highway of rooftops to get to the location they want.

Every once in a while Damian glances around and searches Dick into his vision. To make sure he’s safe, the boy tells himself. But he knows it’s a lie. If Dick can’t handle himself while running over the roofs then no one can. He’s the best and Damian knows it.

“Watch it, assassin!” Dick warns somewhere above the boy. Damian notices the electric wire too late. He tries to cut his line and shoot another one but he doesn’t aim and it catches empty air. In a fraction of a second he’s free falling towards the heavy traffic swooshing under them.

“Nightwing!” Damian yells. He can’t see where the young man is.

And then the falling stops. Strong arms catch him midair and bang the air out of his lungs. He glances up to see Dick’s determined eyes only inches apart from his owns. The acrobat has pulled out the grapple he never uses and swings them both over the nearest rooftop. He drops Damian to the roof and unhooks the line. He lands a bit further away.

Damian slumps down to his knees and pants sharply.

“You okay?”

The boy glimpses up.

Dick is standing over him, his head tilted in worry and eyes flooded with hidden fear. Damian glances back down but grits his teeth and straightens up.

“Let’s keep on moving. Batman has been after these fight club guys for a long time. They won’t wait forever,” he hurries. Dick nods in silence but there’s something slightly miserable in his expression.

‘The fight club guys’ consists of ten, maybe more, guys who gather together every full moon. High class nutjobs if Damian is asked. They put up a fight ring and pick innocent passer-bys to compete in their sick role-plays which mimic the most twisted video games ever published.

So, two blocks west from Arkham Asylum. It takes Dick less than two minutes to rule out all the other possibilities and conclude in which exact building the fight club is put up to.

“We go in different routes,” Dick assists, “I go front, you go back. _Don’t_ kill anyone.”

“Oh please, Nightwing. Like I ever did anything like that,” Damian snorts. Dick grins.

“Good luck, little assassin.”

“ _Luck_ has very little to do with anything I do,” the boy declares, annoyed. Dick shakes his head and smiles looking amused. The he swings in from a skylight as silently as a panther. Or a shadow. Damian sneaks into the back and slides in from the door.

Damian walks the dark, empty corridors in high alert, hands ready on his knives. He switches on his night goggles. After an eternity of emptiness he can hear someone or something moving behind him. He turns around. There’s no one.

He narrows his eyes and circles slowly around. He can still hear someone breathing. Tension is thick in the hallway. Damian backs to a corner and waits. A minute passes. Then a short figure gets on the move, sneaking into the way Damian was going. The boy continues waiting. When the figure is in front of him he jumps forward.

The shadowy figure turns to look at Damian. What the boy sees makes him quail and hesitate a moment. It costs him everything.

A horrible noise is screaming inside his head, forcing him to drop onto his knees. Damian pants and tries to hold back the panic. He’s not controlling his own movements. He attempts to fight it but the creature’s hold on his muscles is strong. He manages to pull out one knife and weakly stab the figure but it only infuriates the creature. Damian feels a higher spike of pain in his mind. And then everything blacks out.

His last thought is the red eyes glowing in the darkness of the corridor.

– – –

The big hall is smoky and so hot it’s suffocating. Near the ceiling is a shadow which moves too purposefully to be a shadow. Dainty legs covered in black spandex trail lightly on the rafters, observing the situation. Gloved fingers – two are blue, three are black – grip a pillar tighter when he notices the last competitor is brought in by the eleven organizers running the whole fight club thing.

“Damian.”

The shadow whispers the name with desperation, like hoping the languid boy would open his eyes, wake up and fight his way to safety.

Dick grits his teeth.

He descends slowly to the floor, using the smoke to his advantage, and sneaks behind one of the organizers. He drags the man into the shadows and knocks him unconscious without making the slightest noise. Nightwing’s steps make no sound as he treads on the floor, light as a leaf in the wind, taking down thugs one at a time.

_Three down, eight to go_ , he counts vengefully.

“Ladies and gentlemen!”

The voice is clear, loud and near. It startles the hell out of him.

“Welcome to the competition of the year. The grand finale we’ve been waiting for _is here!_ And we have a special guest to the final fight!” the voice continues flamboyantly. Dick ignores it and continues his search for the organizers. But they are all gone.

Sharp, bright lights shoot into the hall. The walls slide aside, revealing an audience behind glass walls. A wave of applauds trundles over the hall. The smoke fades away and leaves Dick alone in the middle of a huge arena. Well, not completely alone. There are several passed-out persons set in a circle by the walls of the arena. One of them is Damian.

“What…?”

The announcer’s voice is astonished. Dick glances around. His masked face is magnified on every display screen in the hall. The young man in the Nightwing costume pulls together the last shreds of his disheartened confidence and straightens up.

“Well, isn’t this a cute little get-together,” Dick declares with more confidence than he has, “but the show is over now!”

“No one can stop the Death Court!” the announcer screams into the mike. Pair doors behind Dick slide open and the eight remaining organizers run into the arena. He turns around to face the men trying to surround him. Only now he notices the glowing, red eyes they have. He swallows and looks straight into the camera.

“Maybe I’m no one.”

He pulls out his escrimas and attacks.

– – –


	9. ...until the death

He flies through the air. His movements are controlled by reflexes and that’s what is keeping him alive. His grip around the escrimas tightens and he swings them like natural parts of his body. The ground is working with him, the air is his ally. He is one with the world. Nothing can stop him. He punches one of the attackers in the nose with his elbow and straightens his arm to lightly touch the guy with the stream of electricity crackling from his escrima.

A swift dodge, land behind one attacker. Electricity sizzles in the air and the attacker slumps down. The young man spins around and dives under a desperate attack. Even more electricity dances in the air with every move the young man makes. The attackers drop one by one, helplessly outnumbered in front of the masked fighter.

Dick lets out an angry groan as he dips onto his knees and swings his weapons. His eyes fall into the sandy ground and he inhales deep. Then he straightens up and glances around.

Eight attackers are lying unconscious around him. Their grisly red eyes are fading into white.

“Excellent.”

Dick scowls at the voice but doesn’t have time to do anything else.

A horrendous noise clogs his ears and he can’t think straight. The world is blacking out around him but that is exactly what saves him. When all the needless information flooding his senses is gone he can finally see clearly.

The Death Court. The announcer. The hypnotizing, red eyes. Everything is in connection. The organizers were slow and clumsy like someone else was controlling their movements. The only voice in the arena belongs to the announcer. It’s close, too close to come from the speakers, and too directed also. Two red dots flashing above Dick’s face, teasing him like he was supposed to figure this one out before taking his last breath.

Just as Dick is about to lose his grip of the reality everything clicks into place.

With the last shred of his strength he thrusts one of his escrimas forward and shoots a wave of electricity into this air.

The announcer screams in agony. The red dots vanish, and the tension over the whole building is lifted.

Dick smiles sleepily.

There are worse ways to go out. At least Damian is safe now.

His eyes close and a wave of black trundles over his vision.

– – –

Damian bounces awake. He shakes his head and by a reflex he takes in the situation.

He’s in an arena. Behind glass walls there’s an audience that has gone into a total panic. On the arena’s ground there are eleven slumped bodies lying around, plus one more. A young man, dressed in black and blue. His body is twisted into an unnatural position, and the suit covering his skin is shredded and colored in rusty red. His face is hidden by a bloody mask but Damian knows who he is.

_Nightwing._ It’s Nightwing. Panic sweeps over him.

“Grayson,” he breathes out desperately and stumbles onto his feet. Then he falls next to Dick’s inert body, lifts the young man’s head to his lap and checks the pulse.

Steady beating drums against Damian’s cold fingers.

Damian exhales with relief and turns his gaze into the ceiling.

“Dami?” Dick’s voice whispers softly. Damian alerts and looks down. Dick’s eyes are flickering open. He glances around and points weakly at the other competitors picked by the ‘fight club guys’.

“Get them out.”

The man’s voice trembles and breaks.

“What?”

“Get… them out,” Dick breathes out forcefully, “the building is… coming down -ach ach- the leader held it together. He controlled… everyth -ghah- ing. It’s coming down. Damian, go.”

Dick presses his hand on Damian’s chest and tries to tenuously push him away.

Damian scowls and shakes his head.

“Damian, _go!_ ” Dick begs and pushes again. His fingers are shaking even though they are firmly pressed against the boy’s chest.

Damian shakes his head again.

“No!”

“Goddammit, Dami! Go!”

Damian grabs Dick’s hand and entangles their fingers.

“We’re family! I can’t leave you behind. It’s not what we do!”

“But we have a responsibility for these people! Go!”

Damian ignores Dick’s objections and lifts the man onto his feet. Dick is trying to guide Damian towards the lost and confused figures wandering around the arena in consuming panic. The first rumbles are already rattling the building.

“Okay, everyone who wants to live! Follow me!” Damian yells and waves his free hand high above his head, “I’m going to get you out but move your asses here and quick.”

He doesn’t wait to see if the figures actually follow him when he turns around and starts dragging Dick towards the nearest exit. The young man has fallen back into unconsciousness and a trail of red is bleeding from his nose.

“Dammit, Grayson,” Damian swears and limps forward.

He hears steps behind him. The people are following him. Good. Maybe Grayson won’t hate him so much after he gets them out of there.

They move through the empty corridors, dodging falling pieces of ceiling and evading falling rafters. Damian guides the motley crew to an emergency exit and gestures them to move quickly past him into the fire escape.

The building rumbles stronger than earlier and Damian loses his balance. Dick’s languid body slumps onto the floor. Damian tries to lift him up but his leg is stuck. Another rumble throws Damian into the wall. A piece of a rafter falls in front of him and blocks Dick from his vision.

“Grayson!”

Damian throws himself against the rafter but it doesn’t move.

“Little assassin…”

Was that Dick’s voice or did he imagine it? Damian doesn’t know.

“Dick!”

No answer.

Damian roars in fury and hits the rafter blocking his way. Then his gaze shifts upper. If he could climb over it…? There’s only a slim gap between the rafter and the ceiling but he could try. The boy shoots a line and slings himself into the air. He dives in from the gap and lands right next to Grayson. His eyes are closed and he looks drained of life.

“Oh, don’t you dare to die on my arms, Grayson,” Damian mutters, “I hate being in debt.”

He tangles the line around them both and shoots the hook up into the air. After a few minutes of desperate warping he manages to pass Dick through the gap and follows right after. A yet another rumble rattles the walls. Damian’s line unhooks. They fall to the floor and Damian feels choking pain in his knees.

He pushes it aside and crawls towards the light shining through the emergency escape, dragging Dick behind him.

Moon. Sky. Cool metal against Damian’s skin. Dick’s weight on his arms feels a little lighter.

Floor trembles under them. The boy reminds himself they aren’t safe yet. He lifts Dick over his shoulder and runs the stairs down. Even when he’s on the ground doesn’t stop. Not until the building collapses behind him and he knows they are safe.

Sirens wail in the darkness.

Damian drags Dick into the night, his thoughts focused on one thing.

– – –

Damian is sitting by the narrow bed, his forehead leaned into his palms.

“Please wake up, Grayson,” he begs and lifts his pleading, blue eyes up to watch the sleeping man.

Dick’s face is calm under the trails of blood splattered all over his face. Some of it has bled from him but most of it belongs to the ‘fight club guys’ he beat up. His body is the one that really took damage. Like something had attacked him from the inside, burning and tearing it apart.

The worst thing is that Damian doesn’t know what is wrong with him. His condition shows no marks to anything the boy has ever seen before. That is bad, considering he’s the grandchild of the Demon’s Head and has been trained to master multiple fields of medical care.

“I never thought I’d say this out loud to anyone but I care about you. I really do. Please, wake up. No one has ever mattered to me like this. No one has ever understood like you do. I regret I didn’t tell it to you,” Damian whispers to serenely sleeping Dick.

He falls back to silence.

“Damian?”

Dick’s eyes flash open and he blinks a few times.

Damian can’t stop himself from grinning.

Luckily Dick is too stunned to notice it before Damian has already hidden it away.

– – –


	10. The darkness laughs tonight

“Did you really have to almost get yourself killed like that, hm? Damian quizzes when Dick seems awake enough for a proper conversation. Dick looks at him and smiles sleepily but clearly delighted. He probably didn’t expect to wake up again.

“What happened there, Grayson?” Damian demands.

“He controlled it. All of it. The organizers, the fighters, the building, he was holding it all up with the power of his mind. When he went unconscious it all collapsed. And like you said, he almost killed me,” Dick explains, his voice getting interrupted several times due to heavy coughs. “I don’t know how he was that powerful.”

Damian nods. Then he hands Dick the mug of hot chocolate he forgot he was holding and fixes the corner of Dick’s blanket.

“One of his accomplices attacked my mind too but it wasn’t nearly as strong as that.”

“I think it’s because he targeted you through another person’s mind. And in my case he was trying to kill me, not imprison me for his fight.”

“Yeah. You’re probably right,” Damian agrees. He feels exhausted. The sun is already creeping up to the sky and his body is screaming for rest.

“So… what happened to you?”

“I led the people out through an emergency exit. Things got messy but I dragged you out and brought you here. We’re in your safe house under the Horizontal,” Damian tells and brushes his hair off his forehead. Dick nods.

“Thank you, Damian.”

“Least what I could do,” he states shrugging it off uncomfortably. Dick shakes his head.

“You could’ve just run.”

“You know I would _never_ have done that!” Damian shouts angrily. He leans back and crosses his arms over his chest. Dick reaches out to grab his left hand and entangles their fingers to mimic the way Damian had held his hand in the collapsing building. He lifts their hands in front of Damian’s eyes.

“I know. You said we’re family. I know.”

Damian pulls his hand away but smiles and nods.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” Dick repeats and chuckles. He ends up coughing again and has to put the mug down. Damian tells him to shut up and not hurt himself.

“I’ll let you sleep it off,” he says and stands up.

“You need to sleep too,” Dick commands. Damian brushes the statement off with a vague gesture.

“Don’t worry about me.”

Then he’s gone. Dick slumps back down to the bed and closes his eyes. Oh, he’s so tired he could sleep a hundred years.

Damian watches him fall asleep from the shadows. When Dick’s breathing sets to the slow pace of a sleeping person the assassin vanishes into the slowly waking streets.

– – –

When Dick wakes up again it’s almost dark outside. He can see the sun escaping the sky from the high window he uses as his front door. He glances at his left to see Damian fallen asleep by his side, resting his head on the edge of the bed.

The young man smiles and pets Damian’s ruffled hair.

Damian jumps into alert and leers around in confusion. His hands have flown to the handles of his knives.

“Dami.”

“Grayson? Are you okay?”

“The pain is gone if that’s what you mean,” Dick confirms. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. What time is it?”

“It’s going dark outside,” Dick says and shifts restlessly. Damian leans away and allows Dick to climb up to his feet from the depths of the bed.

“Are we patrolling tonight?” Damian asks.

“If you’re up to it,” Dick replies.

“You know the answer to that, Damian huffs. Dick smirks.

“Yeah, I do, little assassin.”

Out and going again. For some vigilantes it’s an exhausting routine to repeat night after night but to Dick it’s a thrill, a game to play in the city of Gotham where no night is a routine. Though on some nights the mask feels like a burden, Dick finds those nights easier to bear with a partner.

Dick glances at Damian out of the corner of his eye. The boy is suiting up into his all-black costume and observing himself in the mirror, always ready to go like he never got tired.

“You know, for an assassin who operates during the night with a mask on his face you sure spend a lot of time in front of the mirror,” Dick taunts.

Damian’s reflection in the mirror glares daggers at Dick who is leaning against the wall, already dressed up in his Nightwing costume.

“Talk for yourself. I’ve noticed how you love to admire yourself from anything that shows your reflection,” Damian mocks back. Dick grins.

“You’ve noticed?” he repeats raising his eyebrows, hinting that Damian might have been staring at him often enough to know. Damian’s head snaps down like pulled by magnet but he isn’t quite fast enough. Dick can see he’s flushing.

“It’s hard to miss,” the boy mutters. His walk is even stiffer than normally when he heads for the front window. Dick shakes his head and follows the boy out.

“Jason says you’re easy to tease because you take things so seriously.”

“What are you getting at, Grayson?” Damian asks in irritation. He’s fixing the hook of his grapple but Dick feels it’s an excuse to avoid his gaze. The acrobat shrugs.

“That I’m not serious. I’m really trying to make you smile. I like it when you smile.”

Dick is genuinely glad that Damian doesn’t turn around to look him in the eyes because of that last sentence. It came out wrong. Gravely wrong.

“Why?” Damian quizzes still reluctant to meet his eyes.

Dick takes a glimpse to his left when they leap out of the window. A skyscraper reflects their silhouettes, creating an illusion of two shadows flying over Gotham skyline. Two vigilantes, two masks, two brothers.

“You were raised to be a ruthless killing machine. Seeing you out here makes the world feel like a better place. But you’re usually so angry, like you were mad at the world. So when you look at me and smile I feel like I’ve given something good for this world,” Dick explains. He expects Damian to react like he usually does, meaning that the boy would snort and tell him that he’s a sentimental fool.

But Damian won’t say anything. He looks at Dick and smiles. The elder can’t stop himself from laughing. Damian laughs too, more quiet and tense but still laughing.

“Okay, enough with all the deep talk. Let’s go kick some ass,” Dick declares.

“Finally we’re getting to the point!” Damian responds and smirks. The best word to describing it is ‘evil’.

With no more speak they go looking for some trouble.

In a city like Gotham trouble is never far.

– – –

_“Nightwing?”_

_“Assassin?”_

_“Where are we?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

_“Are we alone?”_

_“I don’t know.”_

It’s dark. The night goggles aren’t of any help. The darkness is too thick, like it was alive. Damian attempts to move. Moving forces a struggling groan out of him. He’s tied up with bowstrings. The more he tries to fight, the tighter they bury into his skin. Behind his back Damian receives sounds of Dick struggling with his own restraints.

He can hear only two persons breathing in the room.

Himself. Nightwing.

But there is someone else too. He can _feel_ it. In the darkness there is something, watching them, just waiting for the right moment… but for what?

Damian shifts uncomfortably.

“Assassin?”

“Yeah?”

“We’re not alone.”

Dick’s voice is hushed but there’s a tone in it. Fear. There’s fear in Dick’s voice. That’s bad. Damian tries to listen in for whatever it was that gave it out to Dick that they aren’t alone. It’s deadly silent in the darkness.

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been here before.”

“ _What?_ ”

“We’re in –”

Dick’s words are cut off with a loud bang. A sharp, bright spotlight shoots into Damian’s face. And suddenly there’s a third person breathing. Slow steps close in on them behind the boy’s back. Someone bows down to click his tongue close to Dick’s ear.

“Tsk, tsk, little wing. Don’t ruin _the joke._ ”

Chills run down Damian’s spine. He knows that voice.

But he’s even more chilled by the calmness in which Dick delivers his next words.

“Hello, Joker.”

– – –


	11. A bad dream I never dared to dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I'll be coaching on this badminton camp next week and going on a camp myself the week after next one so there'll be a few week pause in updating but after that there'll certainly be a new chapter in just a few days :)

They walked straight into Joker’s trap. Damian curses himself for not seeing through it but the truth is that Joker knows exactly what strings to pull to make them do just as he wishes.

“Do not demise yet, little batlings!” Joker declares while hanging from a rafter by Damian’s grapple, “you’ll be in the leading role of my newest joke!”

“I’ve had a rough week, Joker. I’m not in a joking mood. I give you one chance,” Dick says quietly. Damian knows Dick is trying to stall Joker, keep him focused on talking so that they’ll have time to free themselves.

“Oh, Nightwing! You aren’t the little Robin anymore, are you?” Joker cackles sounding more than a little manic, “all serious and grown up now, aren’t you?”

There’s a little silence that he probably means to indicate hurt or disappointment. After that he bursts up laughing again. Damian can feel the cold, nervous sweat streaming down his skin.

“I’m warning you, Joker.”

“Grown wings and flown out of the nest!” Joker continues interrupting Dick. And all the while he’s chuckling and coughing like crazy. Crazy like he is.

“I always hated the way you laugh at your own jokes,” Dick sighs. Joker drops down to the floor and hunches in front of Dick. Or that’s what Damian suspects since he can’t see a thing.

“Necessary evil! My audience is rarely appreciative of my blooming humor!”

Damian is almost through cutting the strings holding his wrists. He prays Dick can keep Joker’s focus for a minute more.

“Tell me, Joker, what does it feel like to be the clown who no one ever laughs at?” Dick asks. Stunning silence settles over the dark space. Uh-oh. Damian grimaces.

“But they do,” Joker finally says. Damian can hear a blade getting pulled out. Dick shifts hastily in his chair, like trying to pull away from the clown.

“In the end, they do. They just need a little… push.”

“Nightwing!”

Joker laughs as Dick’s weak, bitten down grunt turns into a scream of pain. Something warm splatters on the skin of Damian’s neck. Dick’s voice breaks and fades away into the silence. A thousand echoes of his voice ricochet from the walls while panic rises like a tide inside Damian.

“Nightwing!” Damian repeats. He listens in to the silence.

His heart is about stop. Only two persons are breathing in the darkness. He blusters and the panic inside him bursts out as anger.

“You’ll pay for that!” the boy shouts.

He cuts the last wire, jumps up to his feet and begins searching for Joker in the darkness. His fingers wrap around his knives but he doesn’t even realize it. The blood splatters on his neck burn like flames when vengeance guides his steps to Joker, the other breathing person in the room. Born reflex takes control of Damian’s hands and he thrusts his knife deep into Joker’s heart.

But it’s not Joker. His knife cuts spandex. The beating heart is located few inches too low, the breathing pace is a little too set, the shoulder he’s holding is a little too muscular.

Blood squirts and wets Damian’s hands.

“Nightwing,” he breathes out in shock.

Dick is tied to a pole right behind the chair Damian was just captured in and now he’s held up by the ropes, hanging lifelessly over them. Dick was never in the chair. And Damian has killed him. The thought reaches him a little late, and all of his rational thoughts collapse at once by the time the realization really hits him.

Manic laughter echoes behind Damian, sprinkling salt on his wounds.

“Enjoy, little one! You’re now the star of your very own dark and tragic joke!”

Damian drops his knives and grabs his temples. He falls on his knees and leans against Dick’s legs.

“No, no, no, no…”

He keeps muttering the word until it loses its meaning and he’s left alone in the silent darkness with Dick’s inert body.

He breathes sharply in and out, trying to convince himself that this isn’t true, not happening, it can’t be true, it cannot. He stays like that for an eternity, frozen into this one moment he has only seen in his worst nightmares.

Then something clunks. A beacon of light plunges into the confined space.

“No! You’re ruining the joke!” Joker’s voice screams.

His yelling stops like he ran into a wall after a heavy bang in the shrieking silence.

“Damian?”

Damian bursts into tears.

His thoughts are a mess and he can’t think straight. His emotions alternate from relief and anger to sadness, guilt and everything in-between. He stumbles towards the light and falls into Dick’s outstretched arms. The man wraps his arms around Damian and they hug for the first time. His touch soothes Damian’s racing mind and his steady heartbeat calms down Damian’s rampantly beating heart. His hands are shaking and his whole body trembles with emotions storming inside him.

“I’msosorryI’msosorryI’msosorry!”

Dick doesn’t say anything but his grip around Damian waist tightens and strong sobs are agitating the man.

“He made me believe I killed you,” Damian lets out and holds back his tears.

“I thought I hurt you,” Dick whispers at the same time.

They pull reluctantly away and glance into the room where the Joker held the boy. In the poor light they see two bodies, one in a chair and one tied to a pole, with their faces pulled into shivery grins. Deducing by their looks they have been dead for a while.

“But… I heard you moving, I heard your voice, your breathing,” Damian contends.

“He used radio emitters. High-tech, sounds like you were right next to the person. He knew you can search out a person listening to their breathing. He used it against you by switching the emitters on and off with a remote controller. I found the remote on him.”

“What about you? How did you realize it wasn’t me? How did you get out?”

“He promised me once that someday he’d give me my own joke. ‘A really funny one, just like you,’ he said. But he doesn’t care about me, about us. He cares about Batman. This wasn’t our joke. This was meant for Batman. He’s been long out of town and Joker feels neglected. It’s his twisted way of seeking Batman’s attention.”

Damian stares at Dick for a long time. Dick shifts under his gaze and looks uncomfortable. He fiddles with his fingers and tries to scrub the blood off of them.

“You can understand him,” Damian finally says. “That’s how you got out. You _know_ him.” A cold shudder races down Damian’s spine. He may be a conflicted villain-hero mix-up but even he can’t understand Joker.

“I’m a detective. It’s my job.”

Dick leers expectantly over his shoulder. Joker is gone. Like always. Even if they catch him, he escapes into the night. It’s a never-ending cycle, a vicious circle taking place in the very heart of Gotham’s own darkness.

“Let’s… let’s get out of here,” Damian pleads. He makes an attempt to keep his voice steady but he’s still shaken by the experience of killing the only person in the whole world he calls his friend. The only person in the world he completely trusts. And this is including his family. Dick winces like he had woken up from a stupor and nods several times.

“Yeah.”

He twines his right arm over Damian’s shoulders and guides him away from the scene.

Damian is used to being in control. He’s used to leading. But right now it feels good to let Dick take the wheel and to just follow. He closes his eyes and allows Dick to steer his steps.

The echoes of Joker’s laugh are still ringing in his ears.

– – –

During the next few days they are mostly silent, finding comfort in each other’s mere presence.

They agreed to take a few days off patrol to clear theirs heads. In this condition they’d just end up either killing someone or making deadly mistakes that might cost them their own lives. For a few nights Gotham is on its own. Hopefully some of the city will be left when they are ready put the masks back on.

On a third night in a row Damian wakes up in the middle of the night to terrifying nightmares. He gets up and sneaks to knock on Dick’s door.

The man calls him in and pushes himself up into a sitting position. Damian steps in clenching his pillow in his lap.

“I’m seeing nightmares. Of you. Of me killing you,” Damian mutters when Dick tilts his head. His eyebrows sink lower and the pain aching inside him is visible for just a fraction of a second.

A wave of regret flushes over Damian and he repents coming there.

The look in Dick’s eyes is too much. The chronic sadness piling inside them both has finally reached the breaking point. The boy knows his own gaze looks exactly as miserable as Dick’s.

“I shouldn’t have waken you up,” Damian apologizes quickly, “I’m sorry, go back to sleep, I’ll take some pills and –”

Damian’s words stop flooding when Dick gets up, closes the space between them and shuts him into a tight hug.

“You can come to sleep next to me,” he promises and pulls away. The boy is left breathless and surprised to Dick’s reaction. He smiles tenuously.

“Thanks.”

“I could use some company too, so,” Dick shrugs and smiles too. He spins around and returns to the bed. Damian walks cautiously after him like he was afraid that Dick might change his mind or say that it was just a joke. Thinking about jokes forces a desperate gasp out of him.

Dick pats the bed next to him and nods encouragingly.

Damian sits next to the man and slips under the warm covers that smell like him. The young man settles into a comfortable position on the other side of the bed and wishes Damian good night. The boy’s response is muffled by sleep and the pillow he’s still clenching in his fists.

Later during the night he wakes up to his own shouting and jumps into a sitting position only to notice he’s out of breath and sweaty. Dick turns to face him and places his hand on Damian’s.

The boy glances at him in bewilderment. It takes Damian a few seconds to recognize him but after that the young assassin collapses onto Dick’s stretched out arms. They close around him and pull him into a comforting embrace.

They fall asleep like that.

The nightmares won’t bother Damian for the rest of the night.

– – –


	12. Long mornings

When Damian awakens he notices to have nestled against Dick’s bare chest during the night. He moves just slightly and his skin brushes against Dick’s skin, causing a wave of nervous excitement surge through him. And he doesn’t even know why. Damian tries to embarrassedly push the feeling aside.

Dick’s eyes blink open and he smiles gently at Damian.

All of his frustration fades into thin air.

“Morning, little assassin. Feeling any better?”

Damian is left perplexed because of the situation.

Dick stretches and yawns widely while lying barely inches away from Damian. Things are casual, cozy and… nice. Dick acts so natural. Like they had known each other for decades and woken up side by side for years.

The last thought makes Damian sort of embarrassed.

“Um, yeah.”

“Mission accomplished then,” Dick states softly and gives Damian a little laugh. The boy looks away, afraid that his guilt might be visible in his eyes. He’s glad Dick doesn’t cling to it. Maybe he thinks Damian is trying to hide a smile.

“Please don’t mention this to anyone. Especially to Drake or Todd.”

“Promise,” Dick affirms.

Silence falls around them. They rest beside each other and enjoy the fact that they don’t need words to have a connection. Then Dick’s phone lights up with a message. The man reaches to grab it and says the message is from Tim.

“They come back tomorrow.”

“I thought they were supposed to be three more days?”

“They made a break-through. And Jason will be back then too,” Dick warns. Damian sighs. Dick gives his reaction a laugh.

“You want something to eat?” he asks. Damian changes position sleepily.

“I don’t want to get up yet.”

“So pizza?”

“For breakfast?” Damian snorts and stares at Dick with pitying amusement.  
“Who knows what the difference between meals is when your sleeping schedule is as fucked up as ours?” Dick defends. Damian rolls his eyes.

“Fine, whatever.”

Dick grins and dials the order right away.

While Dick is talking on the phone Damian falls asleep.

He awakens again when the door bell rings in downstairs. Dick grins in his own charismatic way and rolls off the bed. Damian’s eyes follow the young man grabbing his jeans from the floor and tugging them on while stumbling out of the door. Damian smirks when he pictures the pizza man’s reaction to one shirtless Dick Grayson opening the door.

The boy yawns and allows his eyes to fall closed. The sun feels warm on his golden skin and a drowsy sensation takes him over. He smiles with delight and stretches lithe like a cat. Hurry is just word when Damian revels in this moment of peace.

He glances at the door and then at Dick’s cell phone lying on the night stand. Temptation lifts its head in his mind. After all he is an undercover agent, no? He crawls closer and cranes out to touch the phone. It’s cool under his warm fingers. He takes a tighter grip. Then a sudden rush of guilt shoots through Damian and he pulls his fingers away like he had gotten burned.

_Wrong, wrong, wrong._

The word rings in Damian ears drowning everything else under its singing. He inhales deep and rolls over to his back. The teenager stares into the depths of the white ceiling and tries to calm himself down.

“Pizza!” Dick exclaims and busts in through the door. Damian sits up and leans against his knees.

“Sometimes I forget you’re actually a 26-year-old crime fighter, Grayson,” he mutters shaking his head deliberately slow.

“Hey, I can be serious when I want to!”

“You can?” Damian asks pretending to be amazed. Dick grins when he passes the boy a pizza box and a coke can he apparently snatched from the fridge.

“The thing is,” Dick begins when he lounges down to the bed, “I usually don’t want to.”

Damian snorts in mocking amusement but they have known long enough for Dick to understand it’s just his way of agreeing.

“So, is the vacation over?” Damian asks. He doesn’t mean to let it show but his tone is wistful and a little sad. But when he comes to think about it, these last few days have been quite pleasant. Relaxing. Bracing. And exactly what they needed.

“I think,” Dick answers between two bites. The boy nods and takes a sip.

They continue eating and chatting, choosing to stay in light topics. They argue about video games, debate in weapon choices and every once in a while Dick throws in his wretched jokes to which Damian answers with half-hearted insults.

Time glides past them, leaving them in their own little loop where the rest of the world doesn’t exist. Until the bubble is burst by Dick’s ringing phone.

“Take it. I’ll drop these to kitchen and go for a jog,” Damian suggests.

“Great. See you,” Dick responds and ruffles Damian’s hair like he wasn’t a teenaged assassin who spends his nights hunting down bad guys.

The boy collects the pizza boxes and heads for the door.

“Damian,” Dick calls before answering the phone. Damian glances over his shoulder.

“Spill, Grayson.”

“It makes me glad to know you trust me.”

Damian’s heart sinks lower under the burden of his lies and conflicted promises but on the outside his face stays completely blank.

“I know,” Damian answers and turns his back to Dick.

His expression turns grim when he’s alone in the hallway.

– – –

The gravel road crunches under his feet. Lenient wind blows through his hair while he runs. Sun is burning his back under the white, sleeveless shirt. The breath-taking landscape flashes past him but he can’t find the ability to appreciate it within him. Not at the moment at least.

He drags out the wireless earpiece his Mother gave him and sets it into position. Then he calls Talia who picks up at the second ring, like she always does.

_“Ah, my darling son. I’ve been trying to reach you.”_

Her voice is stoical and almost casual but the words form a hidden reproach. Damian has ignored her calls on purpose, giving her vague explanations about ‘complications’, although knowing well that his Mother won’t look it through her fingers for long.

“I’m sorry. Batman is still out of town, and Gotham is in chaos without its Dark Knight. With things being how they are I haven’t been able to get a single moment alone. But I’m in your service now.”

Talia hums thoughtfully.

_“Very well. I have a shipment arriving in Gotham tonight. My other sources tell me that GCPD has knowledge of an illegal transportation set to arrive tonight and they will be in the harbor, prepared to search every ship in order to find it.”_

“But isn’t the shipment guarded? Can’t the ninja take care of it?”

_“Of course, darling, but why stir up so much attention? We don’t want to have them realize who they are dealing with. And especially if Batman was to hear about it, it might put your cover story under questioning.”_

“You’re right, Mother. I’ll take care of it.”

“Magnificent.”

“Oh, and I checked the Batcomputer on al Ghul’s. They have no markings about the… business in Far East but Batman has steeped into your recent actions with more interest than before. ‘Before’ being before I stepped into the picture.

_“What are you implying, Damian?”_ Talia quizzes. She sounds irritated.

“Be _careful_ , Mother.”

_“I’m not the one in enemy’s territory,”_ Talia reminds. She isn’t happy with Damian’s advice.

“I know. But I’m not the one they consider enemy.”

_“Hm. Anything else?”_

Damian thinks about Dick.

“No. Nothing else. I’ll call you soon.”

Damian hangs up. He turns on the volume of his music and picks up the pace, fully immersing himself into the rhythm that his steps and breathing form together. He runs as fast as he can, like he was trying to escape his own thoughts. But he knows he can never be fast enough so he tries to drown them under the music instead.

His legs scream for mercy but he won’t stop until they collapse under him and he’s left by the side of the road, desperately gasping for air.

– – –


	13. Shipments

The front door bangs closed behind him. He hears water running in upstairs but it stops while he’s walking up the steps. Damian sneaks past Dick’s half-open door, hoping not to disturb his older brother.

And Damian doesn’t know why but he just has to look.

So when the boy walks past the doorway he glances in. Dick is standing with his back to the door, by the open closet. He’s fiddling his clothes indecisively, trying to pick what to wear for the day but he seems… distracted.

Damian is just standing there, hypnotized by the drops of water trickling down Dick’s back. Rays of midday sunshine caress his bronze skin. The way his graceful moves cause his muscles to tense and relax in turns looks so easy and smooth. The water drops rolling down his strong and slender back cause the sunlight to disperse into all the colors of a rainbow.

Then Damian shakes himself awake of the hypnosis and slinks quickly away.

He slides into his room and exhales in puzzlement.

_What the hell is wrong with me?_

The boy breathes soothingly in and out. He clears out his thoughts and decides to seek peace of mind in the means of a cold shower. He slips out of his sweaty clothes and secludes himself into the bathroom.

The shower actually does help him to compose his thoughts and he comes to the conclusion that he’s just experiencing the inconvenience of human body called ‘puberty’ in which hormones take control of a person and turn him into a moron. One of the symptoms is observing representatives of one’s own sex like in some ludicrous comparison. Another symptom Damian is not looking forward to occur is the developing of a desire for sexual interaction. As a devoted assassin Damian needs no such entanglements. It’ll just get in his way and cause him both trouble and headache.

The boy sighs. He’ll just have to endure the side effects and hope that it won’t last long.

He dresses up in clean clothes and surveys himself from the mirror. He actually looks a bit taller than he remembered but it might have something to do with the new shoes he got. Or the fact that he’s standing in a better posture now that he has his mixed thoughts sorted out. Damian spruces up his hair and goes to search for Dick.

Maybe he’ll get to hold Dick on for his promise about the shooting range.

– – –

It’s raining in Paris.

Water pours down and floods the streets where people rush around like a faceless mass of black umbrellas. Down one street is a coffee shop filled with a mixture of delicious smells but only a few customers. In a corner table there’s a young man sitting and sipping his second refill. He flips open a packet of cigarettes but a passing waitress points out that if he wishes to smoke he’ll have to step outside.

The man grunts and shoves the packet away. He checks the time from his watch and taps his fingers on the table in an impatient gesture.

A small bell attached over the door rings melodiously when the door is pushed open and a very attractive, dark-haired boy slides in from the rain. He shakes the extra waters off his umbrella and folds it away before turning to scan the café. His blue eyes travel over the people, searching for someone in particular, until those analytic eyes lock with the man in the corner table.

He wanders past the tables and drags out an opposite side chair. The young man lounges back and raises his eyebrows.

“Is this free?” the boy asks.

“You know it is, Timmy.”

The boy offers him half a smile and sits down.

“One can never know with you, Jay.”

They both lean in over the table and exchange a quick kiss. Jason gestures for a waitress who brings Tim a coffee and pours Jason another refill. Tim spreads his hands in a questioning manner, then folds them together and leans his chin on them.

“Why are you here? We’re coming home tomorrow,” Tim finally says after a long pause.

“You didn’t bother to tell _me_ that,” Jason accuses.

“I was going to surprise you,” Tim explains and takes a sip of his coffee. Jason’s eyes follow how Tim takes a sip from his coffee and licks his lips. Jason swallows quickly and makes an attempt to look unconvinced.

“Well, I surprised you first.”

“I see,” Tim chuckles and places his hands on the table. Jason watches them thoughtfully and then slowly entwines their fingers together. A smile sneaks onto Tim’s face and he looks up to Jason’s eyes.

“Will you be mine tonight?” Jason asks and flashes Tim half a grin. Tim’s poker face breaks and he blushes but Jason isn’t done yet. He proceeds to lift Tim’s left hand and places a kiss on the back of his hand.

Tim holds back a laugh.

“I think I’m feeling a little rebellious tonight,” he reveals quietly and smirks.

“I have a room in the hotel down this street,” Jason says solemnly. Tim burst into laughter and Jason can’t help but grin.

“Okay then,” the boy agrees.

They drink the rest of their coffees, get up and grab their coats. Jason asks a waitress for the check while putting on his coat. He pays the bill and the two head for the door. The bell over the door rings when Tim opens his umbrella and they dive together into the rain.

– – –

“ _It’s Batman!_ ”

“ _Not quite, boys! But soon you’ll hope it was!_ ”

“ _Seriously, Nightwing?_ ”

They busted headfirst into the ship and started causing mayhem without asking questions. They had followed radio transmissions from multiple ships and after a while came to the conclusion this was the one GCPD was looking for.

Dick’s improvised plan was to simply march in and take control of the ship. Damian hates to admit that it’s actually kind of working. But for one, this isn’t Talia’s ship guarded by a dozen of ninjas and for second it doesn’t even carry her cargo.

Not that Nightwing would know about _that._

Damian had had all day to prepare for the night. He’d arranged a schedule mess-up in Penguin’s plans and caused a shipment due tomorrow arrive early. Damian thought presenting the notorious mister Cobblepot with certain problems was all but a fitting way to lead GCPD and Nightwing off Talia’s tracks.

And in this way he could allude himself into the false belief that technically he wasn’t lying to Dick. They _did_ find an illegal transport of weapons and other stuff Damian didn’t want to know about. Just not the one they originally came for.

Not that Nightwing would know about that either.

“Incoming!” Dick warns. Ten more thugs run around the corner and open fire. Damian dodges the bullets easily and lands behind the men silent like a shadow. They spin around to face him again but he’s way ahead of them. He tackles one of the guys and grabs his gun.

“Watch it, assassin!” Dick yells. Damian isn’t sure if it’s a warning or a reminder.

“ _Assassin?_ ” someone repeats, “there’s _a fucking assassin_ here somewhere?”

Damian shoots him first, in the shoulder though. Then he strips the men of their weapons but he aims only at carefully picked non-vital organs. The poor bastards didn’t even know what it was that hit them.

Dick lands on a crate above Damian’s head. He’s squatting on the edge and leans his head on two fingers covered in blue spandex. The fingers hidden inside black spandex are holding one of his escrimas. He’s smirking at Damian who scowls in irritation.

“What?” the assassin bridles and drops the gun on the dock. Nightwing shrugs.

“They found the assassin,” he notes. The boy blinks.

“Don’t you ever get tired of pointing out the obvious?” Damian asks and scowls harder. Dick shrugs again and sends a shock of electricity running through one thug who was making an attempt to crawl away. Then his attention returns to Damian like nothing happened.

“Not as long as I find it amusing,” he responds and smiles like a hypocrite. He’s doing it on purpose, Damian is sure of it.

“What if _I_ don’t find _you_ amusing?”

Dick pretends to think about it for a moment.

“Impossible. I am _hilarious_ ,” he states and disappears. Damian looks around but the young man vanished into thin air so fast and unexpected that the boy didn’t manage to catch which direction he went.

“Goddammit, Nightwing,” he mutters to the world in general.

Dick’s laugh echoes from somewhere inside the ship. It’s followed with gunshots, loud bangs and screams and, eventually, more laugh too. Damian sighs.

“Sometimes I wish I had paired up with Red Hood. He may be a pain in the ass but at least he’s not a psychopath in addition.”

Damian follows the trail of unconscious bodies Dick has left behind and swears that if Nightwing makes it back to the Batcave in one piece Damian will personally teach him a lesson in the subject of ‘never leave a fifteen-year-old assassin alone anywhere’.

– – –


	14. Chatter over the rooftops

“Commissioner Gordon!”

A young man’s voice echoes over the noise and chaos on the docks. James Gordon turns to search out the officer from the masses of patrol cars, officers and by-standers. A man stops in front of him, badly out of breath.

“Report, Officer Miller,” Gordon urges.

“The crew had been tied up and set into a line. The first in the left had _this_ glued on his forehead,” the young officer says and hands Gordon a bright yellow post-it note with blood splatters and blue marker on it.

_Evening, Commissioner Gordon!_  
Sorry I crashed your party but I just couldn’t resist :)  
The third guy from left has a few broken ribs  
(Whoops… it was an accident…)  
But otherwise they should be okay.  
Maybe a few concussions but that’s not my fault.  
– Nightwing 

“He thinks he’s funny, doesn’t he?” Miller remarks and grins. Gordon shoves the note into his pocket and nods.

“He’s no Batman but at least he doesn’t grit his teeth and growl at me when we talk face to face,” Gordon mumbles more to himself than to Miller. The younger man holds back a laugh and returns to the other officers who were just marching the tied-up thugs into a transportation van.

Gordon drags out a cigarette and lights it.

He has an unpleasant feeling they’re being watched but he tries to ignore it the best he can.

– – –

“I don’t think I’ve ever asked you about the post-it notes,” Damian says.

They are watching the police round-up from the nearest roof. Dick’s eyes follows how Gordon digs out the note to read it once more before shoving it back into his pocket and lighting up the cigarette. Dick knows Barbara chastises her father for the habit but the Commissioner has his secret ways of always managing to smuggle out one packet right under Barbara’s hawk eyes.

“It’s a thing.”

“That is not an explanation, Nightwing.”

“I didn’t say I’d give one, little assassin,” Dick points out and smiles distantly. Damian huffs but doesn’t continue to argue about it.

They turn away from the scene and swing into the night.

The rest of the night is surprisingly calm, just little crimes and other whatnot. The improvised Dynamic Duo has no problems in breaking down a few gang fights, stopping a pretty pickpocket and scaring off a crew of bank robber wannabes (their plan was pretty good just not good enough).

“That is why I don’t plan,” Dick comments and gestures into the direction where most of the almost-criminals ran. Damian snorts.

“I thought it was because your plans suck.”

“Exactly my point.”

“Right.”

Dick is sitting on a roof extension while Damian is leaning against it. They are both pretty tired after the long night, because sometimes criminals just don’t learn their lesson on the first try. And the thief girl was fast. No match for Dick and his acrobatics but she was smart too and guided them into the sewers which she clearly knew better than they did. Too bad she didn’t know that Damian could throw a batarang around the corner and nail her into the wall with it.

“The thief girl liked you,” Dick says out loud. Damian throws him a murderous glare.

“Mind your own business, Nightwing.”

“Seriously, I’ve never seen you show any kind of romantic emotion towards anyone. Is there something wrong with you or don’t you just –”

Damian’s hand shoots up and his fingers tighten around Dick’s neck.

“Okay, okay, I’m getting the point!” Dick laughs and wriggles himself free of Damian’s grip. The boy is still glaring daggers at him but he looks more like a hurt kitten than a notorious assassin. Dick shifts on the roof extension so that he can lean down to talk right into Damian’s ear.

“Just tell me, did Talia ever have _the talk_ with you or –”

“Nightwing!” Damian warns and blushes. He looks embarrassed and almost… angry?

“Sorry, baby bat.”

Damian snorts and narrows his eyes at Dick who backs off grinning. The boy crosses his arms over his chest and decides to stare straight forward in great determination. Dick tilts his head and he realizes he probably went too far. If Talia had just a few weeks back declared Damian unwelcome home, she might just be a very sensitive topic.

He flips off the extension and lands in front of Damian. He crosses his legs under him and stares deep into Damian’s cold blue eyes. The boy frowns at him.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought Talia up.”

Damian blinks. His gaze falls to his feet.

“Look, I don’t always think before I talk. But I don’t mean to hurt you, okay? You’re my brother, my friend, my partner and you have never once let me down. And I –”

“Stop talking, Nightwing.”

Dick falls silent and he flinches backwards. Damian looks up and the left corner of his mouth twitches up into a crooked smile.

“I’m supposed to be the grumpy little assassin. I can’t be that if you go around making me smile.”

“Oh, stop. You’re making me blush,” Dick commands and covers his cheeks with his hands. Damian smirks.

“You’re an idiot, Nightwing.”

“Oh, I care about you too.”

Damian’s smile widens to reveal his perfect teeth. Dick gives him a wink and the boy hits him in the shoulder. They start wrestling on the roof but are interrupted when Dick’s communicator lights up with an intercepted call on the GCPD frequency.

The two costumed vigilantes freeze on the spot and glance at each other.

“Ready, little assassin?”

“Do you even need to ask?”

Dick shrugs and suddenly he’s just gone. Damian shakes his head and follows.

“God, how I hate it when he does that,” he mutters.

– – –

Sun is almost up.

Tim stares at the ceiling and wishes his racing heart would calm down. His breathing is the only noise in the dark room. He can still feel Jason’s touch on his skin. Where Jason’s fingers wandered, where his lips placed kisses, where their bodies pressed together, where their hair got tangled. Tim gasps for breath and breathes shakily out.

He touches his wrists and tries to rub some feeling into them. He sighs when he thinks about the few new bruises he got from tonight. But to be fair, Jason got a few new scars on his back from tonight.

Tim is quite sure it isn’t healthy. You know, their sex.

Every night is like a struggle for power and domination. It’s like a war, a passionate fight between two brothers in which kisses are yielded as weapons and tongues map out the enemy.

But Tim enjoys it. Adrenaline. Arousal. Lust.

It consumes them and holds them captive until they are drained of energy and will of fight. Tim smiles by himself and wipes off a trail of Jason’s semen from his cheek. His whispers rewind in Tim’s ears, his touch burns on Tim’s skin.

Sometimes hiding their… relationship, or whatever one wants to call, is tough.

But if he said he didn’t like it this way, he’d lie.

It’s a part of the ecstasy. How wrong it feels but how right it is. Tim doesn’t quite know what to make of his feelings, not even in his thoughts. The only thing he really is sure of is that he can never let go of Jason.

Someone coughs. A distant scent of cigarette floats into the room.

Tim sits up and rolls off the bed. He slips into his boxers and grabs his tight Robin trousers from the floor, pulling them on while stumbling through the dark room. The boy sneaks to the balcony and leans next to Jason who blows out a breath of smoke.

Tim trails his fingers on the scratch marks on Jason’s back.

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be, pretty bird. I’ve seen worse.”

“While fucking someone?” Tim asks curiously. Jason gives him a smoky laugh and takes another breath of his cigarette.

“Nah.”

“Thought so,” the boy smirks. Jason chuckles again and wraps him arm around Tim’s shoulders. They kiss softly and smile at each other.

First, it’s all flirting and kisses and stuff. Then there comes kinky, smoking hot sex which plays out all of their darkest desires. And then they wrap up the night with cuddling and soft kisses.

Tim would lie if he said he didn’t love the last part the most.

Jason’s smile widens and he kisses Tim again.

The boy knows that it’s Jason’s favorite part too.

– – –


	15. Home sweet home

“I’ve actually gotten kind of used to the silence by now,” Dick says thoughtfully. Damian scoffs in disbelief.

“You call this silence? With you it’s _never_ silent!”

“That’s not always a bad thing,” the young man points out and winks. Damian stares at him oppressively without blinking once. The former Boy Wonder is holding back laughter but isn’t exactly succeeding.

“Grayson,” the boy sighs, “ew.”

Dick offers him a smug grin and brings his attention back to his Damian-made breakfast. It’s silent for about three seconds before Dick lifts his gaze and opens his mouth, again.

“Okay, so what do we tell Bruce? He won’t believe me if I say you played nice the whole time. Especially since he knows that I would allow you on patrol.”

“Say we fought a few times, it’s true in a sense.”

“Yeah, um, I’m a shitty liar.”

“It’s not lying if you believe it.”

Dick shrugs but he looks miserable. Damian sighs. So he’ll get to do the actual lying, again. Like he hadn’t done enough lying for one lifetime.

It’s one of those days again. Those on which he regrets ever coming to Gotham. It’s not like he hasn’t been undercover before. It’s not like he isn’t used to lying and deceiving others. But it’s the first time his cover is about to become reality.

Or some parts of it, at least. Grayson, for example. Damian actually thinks of the man as his brother. And as of lately he has surprised himself thinking about Grayson in other ways too, less appropriate and embarrassingly _teenager_ ways.

Damian shakes his head. He’s not a typical teenager, whatever his thoughts were. He is an assassin, in love with the Death. The rush of adrenaline when he takes a life. The joy rummaging through his body after every kill. The twisted pleasure that rises inside him during the chase. He loves killing. There’s nothing to be done about it. And if Dick can understand the Joker maybe he could understand Damian too. But he would never accept it and, more importantly, never love Damian if he knew.

So the truth must stay buried.

Damian smiles wickedly by himself. Dick is one thing. Batman is a whole another. Damian has no trouble lying to _Batman._

– – –

When Bruce, Alfred and Tim arrive into the Batcave later that day they aren’t sure what to expect. Alfred has a vision. Tim has too. Bruce isn’t sure. They talk only little when they change clothing and walk into the actual Manor.

“Dick? Damian?” Bruce calls.

“Hello, Father.”

Damian’s voice scares the hell out of Tim. The boy spins around to glare at his younger brother who emerges on top of the second floor stairs. He leans against the wall and measures Tim from head to toe while that mocking smile crooked with arrogance plays on his lips.

“Damian. Where’s Dick?”

“Grayson is out.”

“He didn’t say where?” Bruce asks and drops his bags to the floor where they are immediately retrieved by Alfred.

“He went to meet with Gordon.”

“Commander Gordon?”

“No, the redhead,” Damian corrects with a huff. Tim glances at Bruce who for some reason doesn’t seem happy about the answer. Damian raises his eyebrows with great amusement and turns around to return to whatever it is that demons do on their free time.

“Damian,” Bruce calls again, “what aren’t you telling me?”

He wasn’t called “the Detective” in vain.

The boy freezes on his feet. He spins around looking angry.

“What did you say to Grayson?”

“Excuse me?”

“What did you say to Grayson so that now even he won’t let me on patrol?”

Bruce looks astonished. But Tim knows that there is a slight of satisfaction there, right underneath that expression. He has to admit that he’s kind of baffled himself since Dick is infamous for his habit of doing as he wills, even if it means doing against Bruce’s will.

“He doesn’t?” Bruce asks. Damian snorts in disbelief.

“Like you didn’t know!”

Then the boy turns around and marches away. That mean, gleeful voice in Tim’s head whispers that the little brat deserves it. Tim focuses on ignoring it.

“Tim, when will Jason be back?”

Tim winces into alert and glances innocently at Bruce.

“What?”

“Jason? When will he be back?” the man repeats.

“Uh, I don’t know? He didn’t leave a message,” Tim lies. Bruce nods. His phone rings. The man answers it and wanders further away so he can talk in private. Tim picks up his bags and slides into his room to unpack.

His phone lights up. It’s Jason.

Tim smiles like an idiot and pushes the green button.

“Tim.”

“ _Hello, pretty bird_.”

“What do you want, Jason? I’m in the middle of something.”

“ _Oh, yeah. Looks like it_.”

“What?”

The boy looks around to see if there’s someone in the room with him. Then he glances out of the window but the view is empty.

“ _That’s cute. How you get panicky like that_.”

“Jay, what the hell is this?”

The young man laughs into the mike.

“ _Right here, Boy Wonder. You’re not the only with a tendency for high-tech equipment_.”

Tim’s eyes fix on his computer. Or more accurately the webcam attached to it. He himself had taught Jason how to plant a bug on a webcam and then hack it.

“Jason, mind explaining me, why have you hacked my cam?”

“ _I like to keep an eye on things that are mine_.”

Sometimes Tim forgets that even though Jason lives with them and is in a sort-of-alliance with Batman he still is the Red Hood. Red Hood, who doesn’t care about the rules, has no code and kills the bad guys in cold blood. Maybe it’s a part of what makes him so charming. The eternal allure of darkness hanging above him like a veil of silk.

Jason hangs up. Tim tosses his phone to the bed and heads for the webcam to detach the bug from it. Sometimes Jason just… freaks him out.

A knock on the door. Tim has barely enough time to turn around when the door is pushed open and Damian slips in, shutting the door behind him.

“What do you want?” Tim quizzes, proceeding to take off that wretched little bug. He was half expecting Jason through the door. But the man is still en route from New York since he had to take another plane from Paris. As far as everyone knows Jason spent the last few weeks there, solving a case.

“Is there something I should know about you and Todd?” Damian asks bluntly. Wow, no small talk then.

The older boy scowls.

“What do you mean…?” Tim asks, not sure where this is going.

“Oh, don’t start to pretend dumb now! I know you two have a thing going on. Something you don’t want Bruce to know about.”

“Okay now you seriously lost me. Jason is my _brother_ , you sick little creep.”

“What? That is not what I’m referring to, I’m wondering why you don’t want Bruce to know that you and Todd are… hanging out?”

Tim exhales with relief inside his mind. But outside his face remains blank. God, he already thought that Damian _knew_. Now he’ll just have to play this out nicely and maybe he’ll get Damian out before the boy decides to get any other ideas about him and Jason…

“Bruce and Jason may periodically get along but it doesn’t do them well to be in the same space for too long. And ultimately, yes they do care about each other and wish to protect one another, but their daily basis communications only end in arguments,” Tim explains, “so, Bruce wishes I don’t spend time him.”

Damian glares at Tim like he was evaluating how much his words were worth for. Tim stares back and raises his eyebrows impatiently.

“Then why do you?”

“Because I want to. Now get out of here! I don’t need to justify my actions to you, demon brat,” Tim rasps and pushes Damian into the hallway. He returns to his room and slams the door close behind him.

“Pathetic,” Damian mutters to the closed door and marches away.

Tim rolls his eyes.

– – –

“Robin and Red Hood are teaming up. I suppose. Seems like it. It may not be important but knowing their loyalties would do us well.”

“ _Interesting. What does Batman think?_ ”

“He doesn’t know.”

“ _Hm. Interesting. Let’s keep this in mind for future use. Now, there’s something I need you to do._ ”

Damian shifts on his bed and presents his ceiling a malicious grin. Finally some action. Maybe he’ll even get to kill someone. Damian’s been _aching_ to kill someone ever since he found it too hard to “whoops-disobey-the-kill-rule” with Dick. For a person who laughs as much as he talks (and that’s a lot) the young man has mastered sad expressions exceptionally well.

“What do you need me to do, Mother?”

“ _It’s quite simple. I need you to kill a person who earned the anger of Ra’s al Ghul_.”

Damian lets out a wicked laugh.

“Tell me more.”

Talia begins to explain the details. Damian switches to lying on his stomach and tries to memorize every single word. His first (intended) kill in months needs to be perfect.

He could never settle for _anything_ less than perfect.

– – –


	16. In the darkness no-one hears you scream

It’s well past midnight, and the night of Gotham has awakened.

A shadow flashes past the moon.

The man glimpses into the sky and shivers. Cold sweat runs down his spine, like someone was walking over his grave. He takes a tighter grip of his briefcase and quickens his footsteps. He was going to take the shortcut home through the narrow, dark alley in front of him but suddenly it feels like a bad idea. The (poorly) lighted main streets represent a lot more inviting option.

He turns around to take the longer route when he hears a crack behind his back.

_Never ever walk home after dark again._

His thoughts race along his throbbing heart. The old man swallows. He has walked home for the last ten years, and never once has he felt this afraid. There’s something in the air, something… ominous and threatening.

“Mr. Williams?”

It’s hanging by a thread that he won’t scream out loud. He spins back to face the person calling his name, from the darkness of the alleyway.

“Yes?”

“Are you mr. Williams?”

“I am. Who am I speaking to?” Williams demands to know.

A boy steps out of the shadows. He looks young – not a day older fifteen – but there’s a spark in his pale eyes and a tone in his voice that makes Williams want to turn on his heels and run away. The boy walks closer and smiles in a twisted manner.

He leans in and whispers something into his ears but the elder man doesn’t understand a word. It sounds like Arabic.

“I’ll walk you home,” the boy announces, “the night is young but already dark. Company should do no harm.”

Williams stares blankly at the nameless boy who has now abandoned his poor attempts to smile. Undeniably he’d feel safer with someone – anyone really – but something about this boy makes his fingers itch and blood pumping.

_Danger._

His mind screams danger in the proximity of the boy.

“Uh. Thank you but I’m, uh, I –”

“It wasn’t a question.”

A new wave of chills and sweat agitates old Williams. He nods miserably and follows the boy into the darkness. He tries to ignore everything else except his steady footsteps on the street paving. The young boy glances back to make sure he’s still following. In his blue eyes flashes an emotion but it’s gone as soon as he turns back forward.

But Williams shivers again. He would know that gaze anywhere in the world.

A gaze flooded with dark, irresistible desire for chaos and _blood._

Gaze of Talia al Ghul.

“No!” Williams screams all of a sudden and spins around to run back into the light, back into the safety. But the demon sent after him is on his heels with a few steps.

He’s tackled down into the ground by one swift kick and before he manages to draw his breath back in, the hell hound of a boy is sitting astride over him, knives flashing sharply in the dim moonlight.

“Do you know who you have wronged?” the boy asks.

“No, no, please, don’t do it! Please let me live, please, I’m begging you, no –”

“ _Do you know who you have wronged?_ ”

The words are delivered in a tone that makes the elder man’s heart stop and blood freeze. The boy’s darkish skin blends into the night so the only thing really visible of him are those cold, pale blue eyes hungry for his blood.

The old man knows this is the last night of his life. Death is present tonight as the Reaper is sitting astride over him. He feels unreasonably calm, even though the fear still has him chilled to the core of his bones.

“Burn in hell!” Williams spits out. The boy laughs, and terror twists the old man’s heart.

“One day. But not tonight,” the boy whispers and presses the cold steel blade on his throat.

Williams can see the thrill in the young boy’s eyes when the blade cuts his skin and a trail of warm, dark red blood trickles down his neck. They say on the moment of death one’s life flashes past one’s eyes. The only thing Williams can think of is that he left the kitchen lights on.

The knife cuts deeper and pain rushes through Williams but it is gone soon, when darkness rolls over his eyes and leaves behind nothing but a black void and a screaming silence where his life used to be.

The moon is left watching over his eternal sleep.

– – –

Damian hums in satisfaction.

It was perfect. He could smell the terror reeking from mr. Williams, taste the fresh blood floating in the air. His racing heart is still making his blood pump with adrenaline and twisted joy.

Damian is sitting on a rooftop few blocks south. His eyes follow the traffic idly while his mind goes over thoughts.

If things always were this simple – plan, strike, kill – he would have no problem carrying out the mission he was on. But slowly the line between his role and his nature blurred and he wasn’t sure anymore what was true and what was not.

Grayson is one complication.

Damian’s conscience (yes, he’s quite sure he has one) has never had a loud voice. Sometimes it tries to tell Damian something but usually the boy just blatantly ignores it. So most of the times it leaves Damian alone and allows him do whatever he wishes.

But Grayson is quickly becoming a voice for his conscience which is, in a word, unacceptable.

Damian sighs.

Talia is forming to be his second problem.

Up to date Damian has been pleased enough in the part he has played in his Mother’s plans, or furthermore, in his grandfather’s plans. But day by day he finds himself more and more restlessly wondering about their ultimate goals.

He wants more. He wants _power._

Talia is reluctant to give it to him. She only hands him shreds, pieces here and there. It’s starting to annoy Damian quite a lot. If he wishes to serve her purposes the best he can, he’ll have to know everything. But luckily this problem is easily handled.

He was raised by the League of Assassin’s. What you wanted, you took.

So if he wants power, he’ll have to take it.

Damian smiles by himself when one thought catches his attention. It could work. With some time, it actually might work. And after that, no one could deny his power.

He finally wakes up from his thoughts and glances at his hands. Several drops of Williams’ blood have colored the gloves on his hands red as rust. The dried blood shines out in great contrast against the white fabric of the gloves.

Damian takes them off. With his other hand he drags out a lighter and sets the gloves on fire. He walks calmly to the edge of the building and takes a last look at the blood marks on the white fabric. Then he lets go of the gloves.

First they fall. When the fire has eaten most of the fabric, they start to float. And finally there is left nothing but ash and smoke.

Damian rips his gaze off the street where the ashes rained. He turns around and walks away, still smiling out of the corner of his mouth.

– – –

Batcave. Same night.

“Damian told me everything.”

Dick’s hands freeze on the zipper of his costume and he glances at Bruce who is lounging in a chair in front of the computer. Tim hasn’t come yet, meaning Dick and Bruce were alone in the Cave.

“I believe so. He wasn’t happy.”

“Why change your mind?”

Bruce sounds way too… casual to make Dick feel relaxed. It’s always bad when Bruce sounds casual, especially when he’s wearing the Batsuit. Dick shrugs and proceeds to dress up in his own suit.

“He’s your son. Your biological son. It’s not my place to go put him in danger,” Dick explains. He knows he sounds fake, like he was avoiding the question. “I still believe you should let him patrol but I’m not going to do it behind your back.”

“For a change,” Bruce notes quietly. Dick grins and steps closer to the exit.

“It’s Jason who goes behind your back. I blatantly announce I disagree with you,” he responds while fixing the winged, black mask over his face.

Bruce seems to think about this for a moment. Then he nods.

“True.”

“I never lie.”

“You’re a horrible liar,” Bruce affirms, nodding. Dick grins at the older man and taps the side of his nose conspiratorially.

“As we’ve seen.”

He turns his back to Bruce and heads out of the Cave. He won’t sigh before he’s out in the open and faraway from the Manor.

How long time has it been since he last lied directly to Bruce?

Dick sighs and jumps over to the next roof.

He has a bad feeling he’ll be doing a lot of it in the future.

– – –


	17. Deal

“Evening, Todd.”

“Fuck off, brat.”

Damian drops down behind Jason. The young man is sitting on Manor’s porch smoking his last cigarette. The boy sits next to him.

“What do you want?” Jason demands to know after sighing heavily.

“You knew I was there.”

“Of course,” Jason huffs and blows out a puff of smoke. Damian’s eyes follow the patterns it forms in the air.

“Batman usually doesn’t,” he says slowly. Jason chuckles.

“Bruce is used to Dickie spying on him. His senses have gone dull.”

“Grayson doesn’t spy on him.”

“Well, not with you.”

“What?” Damian asks in poorly hidden panic. Jason shouldn’t know, not by any chance. Damian frowns while his mind races through the latest events, looking for anything that might’ve tipped Jason off. The young man doesn’t even try to hide his complacent smile. He gives Damian a laugh and brings his cigarette up to his lips.

“Oh, please. You two are the hottest topic among criminals,” Jason chuckles and exhales a breath of smoke, “’who’s Nightwing’s new partner?’”

He laughs after imitating some thug in the streets. Damian’s frown deepens.

“But… why haven’t you told Batman?”

“Who says I haven’t?” Jason asks grinning.

“It’s unlikely,” the boy scoffs and shakes his head. Jason shrugs like he wanted to disagree but didn’t care enough to actually say anything.

“Maybe for leverage. Maybe because I don’t really care. Pick your favorite.”

Damian nods. “I believe thanks are in order.”

Jason snorts. He stubs out the remainders of his cigarette and stands up. Then he looks down at Damian and raises an eyebrow with clear amusement.

“I’m not doing it for you, brat.”

Damian stands up too. He’s standing on an upper step which makes him almost Jason’s height. Suddenly he feels a lot more powerful.

“I wasn’t thanking for myself, Todd.”

Jason measures him silently and smirks.

“You really like Dickie, don’t you?” the young man asks tilting his head. Damian scowls and shrugs.

“He’s tolerable. For an idiot.”

“You tell yourself that,” Jason chuckles and heads inside. Damian stays on the porch for a moment more. When he notices Nightwing’s silhouette crossing over the full moon that glows on the night sky, he slips inside too.

When he enters the Batcave Dick is sitting on the computer, feverishly looking for something. He looks horrible. His suit is torn, his face is covered in mud, there are leaves stuck in his hair. His deep blue eyes look sad and empty.

Damian walks to him, drags out a chair and sits next to him.

“What’s on?” he asks.

“I messed up with Poison Ivy. Two officers got killed.”

“The police know what they risk,” Damian reminds. Dick looks up at him and now Damian notices how red his eyes are.

“It was my fault.”

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Damian frowns. Dick pouts and turns his focus back to the computer.

“Grayson…”

Damian knows that expression. It promises nothing good.

“Oh, Dami.”

And Grayson breaks. Damian stands up and wraps his arms around the young man. Dick rests his head against Damian’s shoulder and lets out a silent cry. Damian’s hands cradle him for good ten minutes before the man is able to pull himself together.

“I’ll catch her tomorrow. Justice will be brought,” his quiet voice swears.

“That’s the spirit, Grayson,” Damian encourages, “tomorrow we’ll be prepared for her.”

Dick pulls away from Damian and he looks like he’s about to protest.

“Not a word, Grayson. This is not negotiable. I’m your partner now so you don’t have that many options.”

“I know,” Dick says after a moment and smiles.

“And now,” Damian begins, “you need to get some sleep. We’ll think this over tomorrow. You won’t be of any use if you’re tired.”

“Yes, mother,” Dick says submissively and drags himself up to his feet.

“And take a shower. I’ll stitch those cuts once you’re clean.”

“Calm down, Dami. You’re hovering.”

“Yeah, well, now you get a taste of your own medicine.”

Dick laughs but obeys Damian’s orders anyway.

– – –

“Ouch.”

“It would hurt less if you stayed put,” Damian rasps and forces Dick to stop wriggling.

“I am staying put!”

Damian snorts. He reaches for the cleanser in the med kit. Dick grunts and shifts uncomfortably. Damian frowns at him and slaps him on the shoulder.

“Do I have to tie you up to make you stay put?” he asks challengingly. Dick grins.

“I’d say yes but if Bruce or someone was to walk in I think they’d get the wrong idea.”

“That I was killing you?”

“The other wrong idea,” Dick specifies, waiting for enlightenment on Damian’s face. When the thought dawns on Damian he flushes and he has to drop his gaze to avert meeting Dick’s laughing eyes.

“Glad you find this funny,” Damian mumbles. For a moment Dick looks lost and broken again but this time he’s able to get a grip without a mental breakdown.

“Come on, Dami. It’s a little funny.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Typical,” Dick pouts, “my little assassin doesn’t like my jokes.”

Damian doesn’t want to cling on it but the word “my” in front of his nickname makes his heart pound a little faster. Damian curses himself and tries to fully absorb into treating Dick’s wounds. But time after time he finds himself admiring the strong muscles of Dick’s back, the slender frame of his body, the warmth under his fingers when he touches Dick’s skin.

And time after time Damian feels his heart racing when he traces his fingers on a wound, and Dick leans into him like only his touch could take the pain away. But he’s probably just imagining it all. Realizing that makes Damian somehow sad and he doesn’t even know why.

“Alright, I’m ready,” Damian says while he cleanses the needle and packs away the med kit. Dick tests his stitches carefully and nods for his approval.

“Good job.”

“I know.”

“Man, I’ve always loved that confidence,” Dick teases and ruffles Damian’s hair. The boy glares daggers at him. Dick offers him a wide grin as an apology. Damian can’t but feel like his heart had gotten stuck in his throat.

“Night, Dami,” the elder man wishes and places a swift kiss on Damian’s forehead.

“Night, Grayson,” Damian whispers after he was gone.

– – –

“I see you brought a friend,” a woman’s lazy voice purrs.

Damian and Dick were sitting on the edge of the balcony above Poison Ivy’s head and observing her moves. But she noticed them from a piece of broken mirror in the ground in front of her.

“Planning to reap more lives?” she teases and turns around to reveal her smile that is leaking with contempt. Dick’s eyebrows sink lower behind his mask.

Since Dick was lacking his usual brightness and banter Damian feels like he was supposed to say something. But nothing smart pops to his mind so he settles to simply attacking. Dick follows his example and flips off the balcony, landing perfectly behind Ivy.

Her plants rise from the ground to take them on but Damian’s knives cut through them easily and Nightwing’s swift moves prevent him from getting captured. Until suddenly Dick loses his balance after landing too close one of Ivy’s roots. The vines wrap around him and lift him into the air. He grunts in pain when a thorn stings him. Then he falls unconscious.

“Nightwing!” Damian screams and throws one of his batarangs to free him. Ivy’s vines lift him higher so the batarang misses.

“Don’t worry about him,” Poison Ivy advises, “I won’t harm him. He’s so pretty I might keep him.”

“He’s _mine_!”

“Maybe we could get into an agreement.”

Damian cuts a few vines but ten more seem to come into their place. Ivy is almost hidden behind them by now so Damian can only get a glimpse of her red hair here and a flash of greenish skin there.

“I don’t do compromises.”

Ivy laughs.

“Are you sure, batling? I have a variety of pollens in my use. Just a drop of one… he could be yours forever.”

Damian stops and hesitates for a moment. Ivy’s crooked smile is cruel under the sugary offer.

“And what do you want in return?” he asks.

“That you let me go,” she replies.

Damian looks at her. The left corner of his mouth twitches up into a smile.

“Deal.”

– – –

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seriously, how does Ivy fight?


	18. I'm not a bird tonight

Poison Ivy’s emerald green lips curve into a smile.

“I knew you were a smart one,” her canny voice whispers. Damian breathes out slowly, like letting out the pressure that the fighting built inside him.

“I’m a man of my words, Ivy. I hope for your sake you are too. I’m not a pretty little bird playing with crime; I am an assassin of the League and I have a tendency to spill blood,” Damian warns while he slowly walks closer to Ivy.

“An assassin?” Ivy repeats curiously, “With Nightwing? That is a story I’d kill for.”

“And a story you could get killed for.”

“I see.”

Damian stops right in front of her. Her eyes flick disapprovingly at his knives. Damian sighs and makes a show of putting them away. She gives Damian a sugary look and reaches for something in the back of her leafy dress.

That is about the last thing she has time to do.

In a matter of seconds the two are sprawling on the ground, Damian on top with a knife back in his hand. The boy presses the blade on her neck and raises his eyebrows along giving her a mocking smirk.

“I suggest you let Nightwing down or I just might do it myself.”

Ivy scowls, and Damian presses a little harder. A drop of blood colors the blade red and Ivy starts panting. Her expression is furious but the plants go limp all around them, dropping Nightwing to the pavement.

The fall shakes him awake and his eyes flutter heavily while he tries to make sense of things.

“Nightwing, you o –”

The rest of Damian’s question is muffled by the rustle of leaves when the plants rise into a new attack.

“Tsk,” Damian clicks his tongue and forces his knife to cut a little deeper, “I’m not finished yet.”

But Poison Ivy is ready this time. The plants shoot towards them and entwine around Damian’s arms. The vines pull on his arm holding the knife, allowing Ivy to sit up just enough for her to place a kiss on his lips.

“Assassin!” Dick yells and stretches out a hand to yank Damian away from Ivy’s poisonous touch. The vines holding Damian’s arms go limp when Nightwing cuts them off and pulls the boy up to his feet.

The redheaded temptress hisses at the young vigilante for interrupting her kiss with the boy.

“He’s a little young for you,” Dick reproaches and cuffs the shocked boy into the nearest light pole with professional speed, due to his years in the BPD.

Then Ivy seems to finally catch up on the situation. Her eyes widen when she realizes what is wrong with the picture.

“But I –” Poison Ivy stutters staring at Nightwing in puzzlement.

“You’re not as irresistible as you think,” the crime fighter explains and performs an agile flip to land behind her. She climbs quickly to her feet and turns to face him but the acrobat is way ahead of her.

Nightwing’s laughter echoes around the small square and suddenly he’s nowhere to be seen.

Poison Ivy spins around, looking for him. She frowns and curses under her breath, until her eyes surprisingly lock onto the cuffed Damian who’s struggling against his restraints to join the fight.

“Nightwing? You forgot something,” she purrs and slowly leads her way to the boy. She reaches her hand to touch Damian’s cheek. The boy leans in like a cat, like he was craving for her touch.

“I think not,” Nightwing whispers behind her.

And a huge charge of electricity runs through her. She blacks out and latches to Damian’s feet. The boy hunches and leans protectively over her.

Dick sighs with desperation while he watches the scene that is playing out in front of him.

And then, a new voice interrupts his thoughts.

“Man, no matter how jealous I was, I always liked him better when he was drooling just over you.”

Dick turns his gaze into the sky and sighs even deeper.

“Evening, Hood,” he greets.

Jason jumps down from the roof where he had observed the situation.

“You planning to help or are you here just to mock me?” Nightwing asks and glances at the other man over his shoulder. Red Hood shrugs. His smile is hard to catch under the helmet but Dick is long since used to searching out the signs that give Jason’s expressions away.

“I knew you were after Ivy. I brought antidote,” Jason defends lazily, “I don’t like the brat but you seem to have gotten attached to it so…”

“Just give me the antidote, Jay.”

“No names on the field, Dickie,” Red Hood taunts and tosses him a small bottle, “you yourself repeated that time after time when I was Robin.”

“Yeah,” Dick admits grinning when he catches the bottle, “I guess I did.”

He bends to Damian and takes a firm grip of the boy’s chin.

“I’m sorry but you have to drink this,” Dick apologizes and forces Damian to drink the antidote. Jason grins by himself and decides that this is a good moment to disappear.

So when the new dawn of sanity lights Damian’s eyes and Dick turns to thank Jason, he finds the square empty and silent like it had been before.

“What the hell?” Damian coughs and spits disgustedly.

“Poison Ivy,” Dick explains shortly but gently.

“Why am I cuffed?”

“We may be immune to her toxins but neither of us can resist a direct attack.”

Dick frees the boy and helps him to his feet. The young assassin seems still a little shaken by his personal experience of Poison Ivy’s abilities.

“Why don’t we take her to the police and call it a night?” Dick suggests when he catches Damian onto his arms, after the boy stumbled to his own feet.

“I can handle myself,” Damian rasps and pushes Dick’s hands away.

“If you say so, little assassin,” Dick hums smiling, “if you say so.”

– – –

Eventually, Damian passes out right after Dick had dropped Ivy to Gordon’s men. When the young vigilante flips back to the roof he’d left the assassin to wait, he catches sight of Damian’s languid body hitting the roof.

“Assassin?” Dick asks worriedly and runs to the boy. “Fuck.”

Dick presses his ear to Damian’s chest. His heart is beating, and he’s breathing. Dick sighs out in relief. But there’s still something weird about the situation, like the antidote hadn’t worked like it should. Dick bites his lip. It’s typical to feel dizzy after receiving the antidote, true, but no-one has ever actually blacked out.

Without a second thought he lifts the boy over his shoulder and heads to his nearest safe house with proper emergency equipment. He only hopes no-one will try to cause any trouble since he’s definitely not in the mood for any extra trouble right now. Though ‘the code’ is instilled into his bloodstream, it’s still too damned easy to drift to the edge and so cursed hard to pull back. At this moment Dick feels himself unable to guarantee that he can do it. That he can pull back.

The criminals seem to sense his murderous thoughts miles away because the Gotham streets are unusually silent and almost… serene. Nightwing and the unconscious assassin fly through the city until Dick reaches the safety of his hideout. Dick shoots a line just over the window that is serving as the front door and wraps the wire around Damian’s waist. It takes two or three attempts to swing them both to the window and in from it.

Dick lays Damian to the narrow bed and calls Alfred.

“ _Master Richard. Aren’t you on patrol?_ ”

“I’m having an emotional crisis right now, Alfie! Damian got kissed by Ivy and Jay brought him antidote but he passed out fifteen minutes after drinking it. I think it’s a new formula, oh my god, Alfie I have no fucking idea what I’m gonna do right now!”

Dick could _hear_ Alfred frowning in the other end of the line. The words had just poured out of him, like they always do when he’s really worried.

“ _How long has he been unconscious?_ ”

“Uh, seven minutes about.”

“ _Are his pupil’s dilated?_ ”

“No, I don’t think so…”

“ _That’s a good sign. Do you have access to decent equipment for blood analysis?_ ”

“Yes,” Dick answers, already fumbling out the mentioned equipment. He switches the hand holding the cell and rushes to take a sample of Damian’s blood.

The line is silent until Dick’s shaky hands have successfully performed the analysis process, and he starts listing the ingredients for the toxin. On the second last name of some unknown herb that only grows in the Himalayas, Alfred stops him.

“ _That is a new one, Richard. The ancient Chinese used it as a sort of love potion. It causes a chemical reaction in the brains that subjugates the user to feel feverishly increased emotion for the time of affection._ ”

“What is it for? Ivy doesn’t need it.”

“ _And what is the last ingredient, Richard?_ ” Alfred asks calmly. Dick says the name. Alfred sighs, and Dick’s heart jumps over a beat.

“ _That would explain it._ ”

“How?”

“ _It’s a kicker, Richard. A second wave, backfire, backlash or whatever you wish to call it._ ”

“Are you saying he needs a second round of the antidote? Is that all?” Dick queries and tries not to sound hopeful and relieved.

“ _I’m not sure_ ,” Alfred says crushing Dick’s hopes, “ _but it’s certainly nothing deadly. Give him a second shot straight to the vein and wish for the best. That is all we may do for now_.”

“Thanks, Alfie.”

Dick hangs up and follows the instructions.

Then he bends down to push back the hair hanging over Damian’s eyes. He cups Damian’s cheeks and smiles at the tranquil expression on the boy’s face.

Without thinking Dick places a kiss on Damian’s forehead and smiles again.

“I’ll be here when you wake up,” he promises. His voice is nothing but a whisper. “I’ll always be here.”

And he falls asleep on the rickety stool next to the bed.

– – –


	19. Under the night sky

When Damian finally wakes up he almost jumps into the air. His sudden movement shakes Dick awake from his restless dreams.

“Dami?”

His voice is filled with worry but Damian isn’t listening anymore. Immediately after he recovers from the shock of waking up, his eyes fix on Dick’s lips. The boy licks his own lips, not blinking even once.

“Dami?” Dick repeats. Damian’s gaze snaps up to Dick’s eyes and he smirks.

“I want you,” he purrs quietly. Dick’s eyes widen and suddenly he feels something getting stuck in his throat. He coughs loudly and tries to catch his breath again.

“What’d you say?” the young man asks, hoping he got the boy’s words wrong.

“I. Want. You,” Damian repeats and leans closer. His fingers creep up Dick’s arm and brush through his hair. Horror flashes through Dick’s confused mind when he opens and closes his mouth trying to think of something – anything really – to say.

Damian licks his lips again. Then he presses them against Dick’s. When the acrobat tries to yank his head away Damian tightens his grip in Dick’s hair, preventing him to escape the kiss. Dick’s voice whines muffled protests into Damian’s mouth but the boy stays persistent despite the resistance the older man puts up.

After minutes of struggling Damian stiffens up and quickly pulls away. The assassin drops his gaze to avert meeting Dick’s eyes. But before the boy’s eyes disappear under the cover of his bangs, the acrobat catches a glimpse into the emptiness of his eyes that were filled with fever just seconds ago. Dick lifts his hand up and places it over the one Damian still has entangled in his hair.

“What the hell, Damian?” he asks gently. The little assassin glances at him and shrugs.

“I feel a little weird,” the boy whispers. Dick can’t help but laugh weakly.

“Is’ okay. You got to be an involuntary beta tester for Ivy’s newest toxin,” Dick explains, “I gave you another round of antidote but since it’s not perfected for this formula, I’m not surprised it’s not working exactly as it should.”

Damian frowns. He pulls his hand reluctantly away.

“How long will it take to know I’m clear?”

“Alfred’s probably on it right now.”

“Does Father know?” the assassin demands sharply, his eyebrows dropping even lower. Dick shakes his head but his smile is sad. Damian nods approvingly and clears his throat.

“Could I sleep here? Father thinks I’m at Colin’s.” he asks in a very formal tone that makes Dick chuckle and helps to put him back at ease.

“Dami, you’ve saved my ass more times than I care to count _and_ you just kissed me three minutes straight. Hell yeah you can crash any time you want,” the young man laughs. Damian shifts uncomfortably at the mention of them locking lips.

“Could you not?” he says embarrassedly. Dick tilts his head.

“Could I not what?”

“Act so casually!” Damian yells. Only now Dick realizes how upset the boy truly is about the previous event. He opens his mouth but decides not to say whatever he was going to say. The younger vigilante looks relieved when silence takes over the room.

“I’m sorry,” Dick whispers. Damian smirks grimly.

“Sentimental fool,” he scoffs.

“Only for you.”

“Shut up, Grayson.”

Dick grins and leans closer to the boy. Damian leans back, looking reserved like he was going to retreat into his own shell at any given moment. The acrobat shoves himself forward and clutches his arm around the little assassin. Damian tries to wriggle out of his grip hissing like a cat sprayed with water.

“Shh, Dami. Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Unhand me, Grayson!”

Dick shushes him again and Damian grudgingly accepts the token of affection called something as unearthly as a _hug_.

Outside the window the sky is pitch black except for the bright light of bat-signal reflecting upon the surface of heavy clouds.

– – –

“ _What are we gonna do about him?_ ”

“ _We kill him and leave him here!_ ”

“ _No, are you mad? Do you really want a murderous Bat on your ass for the rest of your life?_ ”

“ _I vote we kill Batman too!_ ”

The voices are arguing in the darkness of the warehouse, fiddling with their weapons and banging their fists upon the crates they had loaded off the ship. There are four of them, at least, and three more guarding the premises of the warehouse. A masked figure is lying unconscious on the floor, hands and legs tied. The smugglers haven’t yet thought of unmasking the figure but it’s only a matter of time when this option lightens to them.

A few crates are crushed, bags of cocaine slowly flowing to the dirty floor of the dark hall. One of the batarangs stuck on the walls falls off with a sharp clink. Shadows dance all over the walls, making the smugglers nervous while the fear of more bats lingers on their minds. They try to ignore the marks of a fight that went down between them and the figure on the floor by arguing even louder.

“Boys,” a new voice interrupts, its echoes filling up the space, “it’s not the Bat you have to be afraid of tonight.”

The smugglers glance up to the rafters. What they see is a shadow of a man; black boots, black trousers, dark brown leather jacket, two guns strapped to the belt on his hips. Only when the man squats to rest his weight on his thighs they can see the red helmet covering his face.

“Red Hood,” someone whispers, terror leaking from the tone.

“You know who I am,” Red Hood chuckles and jumps off the rafter. He lands with a roll and when he stands up, his guns are pointing at the stunned smugglers. “I’m sorry to be rude but I’m not particularly interested in knowing who you are.”

He holds a dramatic pause to click the safety catches off. “I suggest you all step back or I might accidentally pull the trigger,” he continues, walking closer to the figure on the floor. The golden ‘R’ on the person’s chest catches Red Hood’s eye and he smiles out of the corner of his mouth.

_Such a dramatic entrance_ , Tim’s voice sighs inside Jason’s mind. _You take more after Dick than you pretend_. He crouches down and checks Robin’s pulse.

His scowl is hard to note under the red helmet but it’s still visible. Under it his face goes pale and his eyes widen in shock. The man lifts his fingers and stares at them for good ten seconds before having to gasp for air.

The black fabric is wet with blood. It absorbs into the fibers and starts to dry. Red Hood swallows and looks up. The smugglers have gone stiff and their faces are slowly turning purple for holding their breaths.

He doesn’t say a word when he picks up the gun that he put down to check Tim’s pulse and points it at one of the smugglers.

The men tremble in fear. Not one of them dares to move. Not one of them dares to speak.

Red Hood’s index fingers find their places with deathly determination.

And he pulls the triggers.

He screams wordlessly while tears stream down his face. The guns start clicking empty but he keeps on pulling the triggers, unable to stop, unable to get control. Eternity passes him by before he drops the guns and collapses to the floor, his voice and tears used up.

The echoes of the gunshots linger in the warehouse long after the blood streams have stopped and the bodies have cooled. Long after Red Hood and Robin are gone, leaving behind nothing but a red helmet and empty shell casings by the side of dried up blood splatters.

The only light left in the warehouse is the faint reflection of the bat-signal somewhere in the sky.

– – –


	20. A bad inkling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The update is a little late from usual and I'm sorry about that but yay, Babs makes a brief appearance in the chapter! so enjoy (;

A silent thud washes over the street. The last of the thugs falls on the ground leaving behind only a loud, screaming silence. Batman lifts his hand on his comm. After a short static noise Barbara’s voice trickles through.

_“Batman. There is a situation with Robin. He has shut his comm, and Red Hood is sending a distress signal from the same coordinates.”_

“I’m on my way.”

_“Bruce.”_

“Yes, Oracle?” Bruce asks, already on the move. He checks the coordinates from the hologram screen on his gauntlet and swings on to the nearest rooftop.

_“Be careful. There’s something weird going on. I don’t like it.”_

“I’m always careful. Batman out.”

He shuts the line before Barbara has time to shoot more insightful comments at him. The distance isn’t long and by the time he hits the huge, dark warehouse only few minutes have passed. He looks around, intending to approach the situation calmly instead of running in head over heels.

He hears the faintest grunt and peeks over the edge of the roof. On the ground there is a man writhing and grabbing his leg. His gun – or the pieces of it – is lying on the ground next to him. Batman scowls. Only then he notices the other two men lying close by, both alive but in no condition to move.

He searches the rooftop entrance and drops in to the warehouse.

Marks of struggling and fighting litter the walls and floor. Bloody batarangs. Crushed crates full of countless bags of cocaine. White powder all over the floors, some of it contaminated with red. Blood marks.

Batman swings himself down. His long cape wipes away the footsteps his boots leave on the powdered floor. He walks over to the four bodies. Dead. All four of them. Their clothes are torn with bullet holes and smeared with dried blood.

Behind him he hears a weak, electric interference noise. Bruce turns around.

One of Red Hood’s helmets is sitting on the floor surrounded by empty shell casings. By the side of a pool of blood. Robin’s earpiece is half drowned into it, the dried up blood almost covering it.

Batman lifts his hand to his comm, shock shooting through him as he realizes what the meaning of the set-up is. The cowl hides his expression from the rest of the world but he can do nothing to mask the anger in his voice.

“Oracle?”

Barbara’s calm, reassuring voice meets him on the other end of the line.

_“I’m here, Batman.”_

“Do we have a lock on Red Hood’s most recent location?”

A moment of silence. Distant clacking of keys. A sigh.

_“You’re standing on the very spot. He knows how to slip my perimeters. Robin has usually had some way to contact Hood but I do not know how.”_

“Have you heard from Nightwing?”

_“He’s on his way to you. I’ve asked Alfred to take Damian into Batcave for monitor duty.”_

“Oracle, Damian is not –”

_“Do not argue with me, Bruce. He may be your son but an extra pair of eyes is just what we need now. We need to find Hood. And Robin. Priorities. That’s what you always taught us. All of us.”_

“Fine. Batman out.”

– – –

The search has been going on for days.

Damian is sitting in the Batcave, wires and sensors attached to his arms while he’s browsing through terabytes of surveillance footage from all over Gotham. Alfred’s presence behind his chair is quiet but constant. The old butler hasn’t spoken much but Damian can tell just by his worried scowl and tense posture that he’s worried out of his mind for Drake.

It makes him wonder if the family would go through such trouble to find _him_. If he just disappeared one day, for how long would they look until they’d give up?

Maybe they’d be relieved.

_Beep!_

Alfred glances at the monitor on Damian’s left. The wires on the boy’s arms connect to it, so that they can survey his vitals. Damian spares a sideways glance to the monitor. His heart rate has jumped.

“Stay calm, master Damian. Poison Ivy’s new toxins are always a hassle and I haven’t uncovered all the possible side effects yet,” Alfred says so calmly Damian almost winces, “and this might take some time, since master Bruce cannot know. Richard has been most explicit on that matter.”

“Your help is highly appreciated, Pennyworth,” Damian nods absent-mindedly.

He hasn’t talked to Talia either, not after she ordered the death of mr. Williams. He had only sent her a brief success message he had recorded in advance. He decides to call his mother right after they find Drake.

A selfish thought passes through his mind.

What if they didn’t find Drake? Or what if he was dead? Batman needs Robin. Everyone knows that. Batman needs Robin even more than Robin needs Batman. The assassin smirks. One night he had been out with the death, and that night he had killed mr. Williams. That night marked the day he had formed the Great Plan. After executing that plan no-one could deny his power. But in order to complete it he’d have to get closer to Batman. Sometimes opportunities present themselves at the most unexpected of times.

So maybe if Damian found Robin first…

_“Dami?”_

The familiar voice calls his name through the headphones wrapped around his neck. Damian pulls them over his ears and answers Dick with a grunt.

“We found him.”

Three words. Only three words.

Damian’s heart sinks under their weight. Dick’s voice alone is enough to guilt-trip the assassin, though the acrobat doesn’t even know about the horrifying thoughts going through his mind. The man sounds just so relieved and so hopeful that Damian almost can’t believe he actually thought about getting rid of Drake. And for what?

Power.

From the moment of his birth, power had been the single most important thing in his life. Then he had met Grayson. And Grayson was the beacon of light in the darkness that was Gotham. He was the loving man who had welcomed Damian with open arms and embraced him as family, never looking back to where the boy had come from. Grayson, the hero too good to believe, that not everyone has a soul.

“Good.”

That is all Damian can push out of his mouth.

“Is he alive?” he asks quickly. Grayson is silent for a moment too long. Damian’s heart pounds like crazy. The worst part is he doesn’t know which answer he wants to hear.

_“I… we don’t know.”_

“Is Hood there?”

_“Yes. I’ll go inside. Try to reason with him.”_

“Be careful,” Damian commands. He doesn’t like the idea. He doesn’t like Hood. Every time Batman looks at Damian, the boy can’t help but feel that the man sees Todd instead of Damian. The failure, the disappointment. Grayson always says Bruce never stopped believing in Jason. He has just always been so bad with his emotions and so damned proud that he has never gotten around to telling Jason that.

Damian doesn’t quite believe that. And because of his similarity with Todd (which he will never admit out loud) Batman hasn’t given him even half a chance to prove himself. It’s not really Todd’s fault. But Damian has never been one to think things are always fair.

Grayson laughs on the other end.

_“Dami, baby, watch your tone. People might think you actually care.”_

“Don’t you ‘baby’ me, Grayson!”

_“Sorry, baby.”_

Somewhere in the background Batman demands Dick to pull himself together. He’s babbling. Damian has been around long enough to know that the flooding words mark out Dick’s worried fear.

“Be careful, Dick,” Damian repeats.

_“I promise you, my little assassin. I will be.”_

Though Damian knows Dick can’t see him, he nods.

“Batcave out.”

Silence. Damian pulls down the headphones. He glances at the screen monitoring his vitals. The heart rate has stayed steady. His faint reflection on the screen hasn’t even blinked.

Inside, his blood has frozen and bad premonitions shade his hope.

– – –


	21. Empty words

“I know you’re there, Nightwing.”

Jason is sitting on the floor next to a large mattress. There is someone lying under the dozens of pillows and blankets but Dick can’t quite distinguish any features that would verify the identity of the person. Jason has taken off his mask, gloves and the leather jacket. His guns lie on a box that is flipped upside down.

Dick walks deeper into the room. It’s the only place in the safe house that is separated with walls from the rest of the space, excluding the toilet/wash room. Jason glimpses at the acrobat. Then he shifts an inch closer to the makeshift table and the guns on it. The movement is subtle but speaks a clear message.

Dick stops. He tilts his head and sits down in the middle of the room.

“Is he alive?” he asks, nodding towards the mattress.

His question is answered only with a silent gaze. Finally Jason looks down. The silence stretches longer.

“Yes,” Jason whispers. Dick nods again.

“You saved his life.”

It isn’t really even a question. Just a simple statement. Jason breathes out an exhausted sigh but nods. Dick smiles weakly.

“Nothing else matters to me.”

“You ain’t taking him from me,” the younger vigilante says in a threatening tone.

“Jay, please –”

“No, uh-uh. Batman left him _alone!_ Batman got him _killed._ He was doomed to lose already when I found him!” Jason cries out angrily, “I could only save him because I was there on the last minute…”

Jason’s voice trails off and he looks away from Dick.

“I’m sorry.”

Dick’s words send out empty echoes to the room. He doesn’t know what else to say. His mind hits empty and all his wise words have left him opening his mouth with nothing to say. Jason’s expression darkens.

“Empty words, Dick. Don’t hurt me with empty words.”

“I know. But it’s the best I can do.”

It’s all just words. Words put in a line, words that mean nothing. He wasn’t there to save Tim. Being sorry won’t heal wounds or make the bruises disappear. Dick feels hollow, like a void in his stomach was sucking out all his emotions and his ability to speak.

Dick lets his eyes drop. God, his heart is pounding so fast. Tim is alive.

“Where’s Batman?” Jason asks suddenly.

“Outside,” the older man replies absent-mindedly. Jason nods. At this moment it doesn’t matter. As long as Dick is inside, Bruce won’t come.

“And the brat?”

“With Alfie, in the Cave. They’ve done a tremendous job. Found you,” Dick says and tries to laugh but his voice breaks. He forces a weak smile on his face instead.

“Have I ever told you I hate that smile?” Jason huffs.

“Have I ever told you I hate how perceptive you are, little Wing?”

“Too many times, big brother.”

Dick laughs. This time his voice doesn’t fail him. The smile is genuine, too. They fall silent. But the old Robins don’t have to speak to continue the conversation. It’s been a long time since they’ve actually been on good terms but right now neither of them can stop the nostalgia making the atmosphere a little more comfortable and the temperature a little warmer. Only noise is made by three people slowly breathing in and out. It makes Dick feel good for no reason.

After a while he stands up and tilts his head, like asking for permission to come closer. Jason leans back, away from his guns. Dick takes that as an invitation to close the few feet between him and the mattress.

Tim looks peaceful under the dozens of layers of covers. The constant frown on his face has disappeared. And because his sharp, intelligent eyes aren’t boring holes into Dick, he also looks so innocent and so… young. Jason has brushed the boy’s bangs off his eyes so they frame his narrow face like a messy cloud.

Dick smiles and reaches out a hand to gently touch his cheek.

“He’s so young,” the man says choking down tears.

“He’s older than Damian. Older than us when we got into this life,” Jason points out with a reminding tone. “And he was younger then too.”

“I know. Too young. We were all too young.”

“Empty words, Dick. I’ve warned you about them before.”

It’s true. It didn’t matter anymore. Past had happened already, there was no use dwelling in it. No use naming out all the ‘what if’s.

“Yeah. Yeah, you have. But I never listen, right? Well, neither do you.”

“It’s a family trait, I think,” Jason says. His eyes are smiling though his lips stay pressed into a hard line. Dick turns away from Tim’s sleeping face.

“We all take more after Bruce than we care to admit. But it’s nice to have you back. Welcome back to family, Jay.”

“I’ve always been here.”

Jason sounds a little confused. He hides it well, though. Dick circles away from the mattress to stand between Jason and the door. He smiles sadly and shakes his head.

“Not always. Not all the way here,” Dick denies. Jason shrugs. Then he looks over Dick’s shoulder and tenses. His eyes narrow and his fingers creep towards the empty gun holsters. 

“You should go,” he says. Dick can feel eyes burning the back of his neck.

“Do it, Dick.”

Batman’s voice makes shivers dance down Dick’s spine. He lifts his hand to meet his temple as a goodbye gesture. Then he turns his back to Jason and walks out of the room, past the menacing form that is Batman.

He sighs and reluctantly puts on his earpiece to call the Cave.

This is bad news.

– – –

Damian rolls his chair around to greet Dick. He not so much heard but sensed Dick entering the Cave. The young man looks exhausted and a little angry when he peels off his mask.

“What is it, Grayson?” Damian asks cautiously.

“Nothing,” Dick claims and brushes the words off with dismissing gesture. He slumps down to an empty chair and nods towards the monitor. Alfred shakes his head. Dick sighs.

“Is that a good or bad sigh?” Damian demands to know.

“We do not know, master Damian. There’s no guarantee you’re out in the clear but there’s also no signs of the toxin in your blood,” Alfred explains.

“I say we unhook him and if anything goes wrong, I try not to panic and bring him to you?” Dick suggests. Damian tries not to show his enthusiasm. All these wires make him uncomfortable. They remind him of the more unpleasant exercises Talia put him through.

“I do believe it’s the best option, master Richard,” Alfred agrees. With Alfred’s help Damian almost rips himself free. Dick hides his smile into his palm but his eyes betray him.

“How long has Bruce been inside?” Dick asks after a pause. Alfred and Damian glance at each other.

“Less than fifteen minutes,” Alfred says.

“Do we have eyes?”

“No. All the surrounding cameras are jammed and we have met total radio silence within a mile of the house.”

“This is all too well arranged,” Dick mumbles, “I don’t like this.”

“Are you afraid Todd might attack Father?” Damian asks jumping into alert. _No, no, no,_ the boy whispers in his mind. He hasn’t yet decided whether to carry out his plan or not. And he wouldn’t want someone else to make the decision for him.

“I’m afraid it’s inevitable. They are going to fight. They won’t kill each other, no, but they will fight. I should’ve stayed there.”

Alfred presses a hand on Dick’s shoulder.

“Master Bruce is insistent. We may do nothing more, master Richard. Nothing more but hope you are right.”

Damian looks at Dick. The man is staring at the video feed from the closest cameras that are still functioning. He shifts his chair closer to the acrobat and slips his hand into Grayson’s bigger palm. Dick glances at him in surprise, but his astonishment is quickly replaced by a warm smile.

Then Dick closes his eyes and presses his chin into Damian’s hair. The boy closes his eyes too, falling asleep almost instantly.

– – –


	22. Divided we fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh this chapter took me so long! So if I haven't mentioned it already, the update times are gonna be a little longer cause I've got this internship thing and the hours allow me a lot less time to write... but anyway, enjoy!

“Faster.”

Damian scowls angrily but obeys. He picks up the pace of his blows. The punching bag rattles in its chain. Bruce is standing behind him with his hands on his hips.

“Faster,” Bruce repeats. Damian spins around and kicks the bag as hard as he can. When it swings back, it almost knocks him over. Then the boy turns around to face the man.

“That’s unfair. Drake isn’t half as fast as I am.”

“But Dick is,” Bruce frowns, looking disappointed.

“I’m just as fast as he is!” Damian shouts. Bruce steps closer. His expression makes him look like he’s contemplating whether to tell Damian to shut up or not.

“I expect more from you.”

“You just don’t want me out there!”

“True. But it seems to be inevitable, since you insist on sneaking behind my back. I at least want you to be as prepared as you can be,” the man explains. It sounds like he’s making up excuses. Damian kicks the bag again, to let out some of his frustration.

“I wouldn’t _need_ to sneak if you let me out. I’ve been trained by the League; I don’t need this… crap!” the boy yells.

“You’re not ready unless I say you are.”

“That’s –”

“Self-centered,” a new voice cuts Damian off, “I _know._ ”

Dick is standing by the door, leaning against the door frame with an amused smile on his face. Damian breathes out sharply and tries to gain back his self-control. Bruce straightens his posture, too.

It’s almost funny.

The goddamn Batman straightens his posture when his adoptive son steps into the room. Damian, a fifteen-year-old assassin-spy, doesn’t want to show his weakness in front of a goofy crime fighter. Grayson has that kind of effect. He holds them together. They had promised to play nice.

And here they were, yelling at each other’s faces.

Dick walks deeper into the room. He tries not to laugh.

“Please. Don’t let me interrupt you,” the acrobat mocks. Damian huffs. If Bruce had the ability to show emotions, he would’ve looked embarrassed.

It has been a month since Todd had kidnapped the-presumed-dead-but-unfortunately-proven-alive Drake. They hadn’t seen a flash of Red Hood since, though Dick and Drake had apparently been in contact with him before he had left for Blüdhaven. Damian didn’t know.

And two weeks back, on one beautiful morning, Drake was gone. He’d left behind only a note with three sentences and a signature. Bruce had been furious. But Dick had assured Bruce that it was okay.

“Swooping that close to death… it’s terrifying. He needs some time for himself. He’ll be back.”

That’s what Dick had said. Bruce listened to Dick. Most of the time. Well, some of the time. But Damian hadn’t believed Dick’s words for a second. He could’ve bet that even Dick himself didn’t believe them. Damian snaps back to reality when Bruce barks his name.

“What?” the boy asks, irritation sneaking into his voice.

“We’ll continue tomorrow,” Bruce blurts bluntly.

“When you’re rested, calm and able to act like fucking adults,” Dick points out sharply. Damian scoffs when he walks past the man and out of the door. He turns his head just enough to speak over his shoulder.

“I’m not an adult. You take care of that role while I get things done,” he mutters. He turns the corner before Dick’s benignant laugh slices through the air. Bruce’s disapproving murmur is drowned under it.

– – –

Gotham, several hours later.

Two shapes are gliding through the shadows, swinging from building to building and stopping every once in a while to take a look around. In one corner the smaller shape stops abruptly.

“This is stupid.”

The speaker is a boy dressed in a tight, full-black costume and a domino mask. He’s clutching the grapple in his hands and frowning at the taller shape. The taller shape is a smiling man in a black and blue costume, also known as Nightwing.

“What’s stupid?”

“Everything,” Damian scoffs simply.

“Want to be any less specific?” Dick asks and tilts his head with amusement. The boy shrugs and leans against a roof extension behind him.

“Nothing makes sense. Father, Drake, Todd. All of them are hiding something; no one acts like they should. Drake has been near to death before, Todd has never backed down before, and never before would Father have let Drake go without running after him. It’s like our lives had plot holes. And you know how much I hate plot holes.”

“I do.”

That’s all Grayson says. No explanations, no theories.

“What’s going on?” Damian yells and leans forward, swinging his hands in frustration. He steps towards the hesitating vigilante. “You know something I don’t. I need to know!”

Dick exhales slowly and rubs his temples tiredly.

“I don’t know, Dami. I really don’t,” he sighs.

“Don’t you dare to lie to me! You preach on and on about how I belong in the family, how I should trust you, but then you won’t trust me? How is that fair?”

“Dami, please, I don’t understand them _any_ more than you do.”

Damian steps closer again and spreads his hand challengingly.

“Why are they –” the boy begins to shout but Dick cuts him off.

“I don’t know, okay!” Dick finally yells, “I… I don’t know. Things are different this time. I don’t know why.”

Damian stares at the man in surprise. Dick gives him a weak laugh – though it sounds more like a covered up cry for help – and sits down to the roof. He leans his head to his hands and lets his shoulders sink.

“Tim’s gone. He told us not to follow and I want to respect that but I can’t stop myself from worrying, okay? Jason’s gone, too. He’s a stubborn ass, always has been, but he’s also family. Bruce drove him away and it’s killing them both,” Dick explains. His voice is only a whisper.

“And Father?” Damian asks. He sits next to Dick and after a moment of hesitation he slides his hand over the older man’s hand. Dick smiles at the boy.

“Bruce is worried to the core. But oh if he isn’t mad too. And about Jason… they still haven’t talked through their things. Old wounds are scraped open and it hurts them so much. I’m just so worried about them. All of them.”

Damian shouldn’t feel sorry for him. He really shouldn’t. His enemies are weakened as their lines are spreading thinner and his mission is going steady. But he likes Grayson and, though he’d never admit it, he _cares_ about the older vigilante. The boy squeezes Dick’s hand tighter.

“There’s nothing more you can do, Grayson,” Damian tries to comfort. Dick smirks bitterly.

“I know. That’s… yeah. That’s the hardest part.”

Damian hums in agreement. Then Dick pulls away his hand and jumps to his feet.

“Enough of this. Let’s go kick some criminal ass and I’ll feel a lot better!”

Damian grins.

“Sure. Let’s.”

And suddenly the shapes are gone, leaving the wind whistling over only a dark, empty rooftop. A little later and a little further in Gotham multiple guns go off simultaneously, only to be instantly cut off and followed by heavy thuds of unconscious bodies falling to the ground.

The wind carries Nightwing’s laugh through the night.

– – –


	23. Merry Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah finally it's over!! And here we have some Christmas themed scribbling, so, enjoy :))

Damian is slouching down the stairs and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes when a voice coming from the kitchen causes him to freeze on his feet. Dick’s relieved laugh cuts off the very familiar voice.

The boy rounds the corner and stomps in.

Drake is standing in the middle of the room and is being crushed by Grayson’s bear hug. His expression is mildly uncomfortable. Damian feels possessive anger sparking inside his small chest.

“Well, see who’s dragged his ass to where it’s not wanted,” Damian announces snidely. Tim raises an eyebrow and measures the boy from head to toes. He suppresses a smirk and nods.

“Yeah, well, I see you’re still here too, although you ain’t really wanted here either.

“Hey, hey, boys!” Dick chastises pulling away from Tim. “It’s kind of early for this, isn’t it?”

Tim nods reluctantly, and Damian grunts in a tone that – probably – is more agreeing than disagreeing.

“Guess I could use a cup of coffee before I’m awake enough for his bullshit,” Damian adds shooting a glare at Drake when he passes by the older boy to get to the coffee machine. Tim rolls his eyes but doesn’t pick up the obvious provocation attempt.

They settle down around the kitchen counter to listen what Tim has to tell about his time away. Dick listens intently and makes quick question every single time Tim stops to breathe. Damian then again belittles everything the other boy says and makes his best attempts to mock the present Robin to the point where he’ll snap.

So all in all it’s quite a normal morning.

Tim took off almost three months ago now but it’s almost like they have picked off right where they left things. Like nothing had changed.

Some things _have_ changed though. Damian turned sixteen. He’s in more or less regular Robin training. Dick has learned to lie a little better. Then something Drake says shakes the boy back into this reality.

“And I’ve decided I don’t want to be Batman’s Robin anymore,” Tim concludes. “The Red Robin suit has grown on me. It fits me better than Robin ever did.”

“You’re one hell of a Robin, Timmy,” Dick reminds sounding almost reproachful. Tim smiles and chuckles lightly. Damian snorts but both of the others ignore him.

“And I don’t think Bruce would even want me back given the way I left,” Tim adds and laughs. Dick laughs too.

“Or because he’s got a better one in training,” Damian suddenly gloats smirking.

“You’re dreaming big, demon brat,” Tim hisses almost playfully.

“Should I laugh or should I cry,” Damian throws back and quickly taps his temple to emphasize his point.

“O-kay!” Dick interrupts, “I’ll leave you two to talk.”

The man gets up, grabs his cereal bowl and saunters out of the room. Tim watches after him until he has turned the corner. His expression is a mix of confusion and shame.

“He just wants to cherish his cereal in peace,” Damian says snorting.

“I know what you mean. I don’t think it’s healthy,” Tim agrees. Damian shrugs and takes a sip from his coffee.

“Todd said that once or twice, too,” the younger boy mutters. He glances up to see Tim shift uncomfortably. When the older boy notices Damian looking, he drops his eyes and focuses intensely into eating his own cereal. Damian narrows his eyes at Tim’s behavior.

“You know where he is, don’t you?”

Tim is quiet for a long time. Too long.

“Yeah,” Tim mumbles.

“I knew it!”

“But you got to promise you won’t tell Bruce that I know or –”

“Shut up, you pretentious dimwit. I’m not like you. It annoys me when no-one ever tells me anything.”

“You know you aren’t exactly the ideal picture of trustworthy,” Tim reminds and points at the boy with a spoon. Damian bares his teeth at the older boy and growls.

Tim looks bewildered and a little grossed out.

“Master Damian,” Alfred’s voice calls from the door, “you are not an animal. Act like your age.”

“This is acting like my age, Pennyworth,” Damian retorts, “Ay yo is me not right, _Timmy?_ ”

The way Damian twists his face when he spits out Tim’s nickname makes Tim almost choke on his milk. He has to cough multiple times and when he finally gains back his ability to breathe, he cracks up to manic laughter. Hearing Damian speak like that is absolutely unnatural. Just like hearing Damian joke about anything.

Alfred offers them a small smile, so small they both almost miss it. The boys look at each other and then down to their bowls. Neither of them says a word. But when Damian stands up from his chair, he gives Tim an accepting nod before walking away.

It’s not much but it’s a beginning.

– – –

Gotham skyline. The clock tower of a nearby church rings its bells two times. The darkness is impenetrable, only the street lamps spreading light into the night. Snowflakes are slowly floating down to cover the wounded city under a soothing, pure white blanket.

Dick sighs. It won’t be so white for long. By the time the sun deigns to peek over the horizon the snow has most likely turned into a mess of yellows, browns and grays, polluted by Gotham’s streets. He really likes snow. As a kid he was always excited when they happened into a city where the first snow was falling.

But it’s a quiet night so Dick isn’t complaining. The snow falls in perfect silence, lulling the city into a dream of peace.

Even criminals seem to have decided it’s time for a Christmas break.

_“Nightwing? What’s your 20?”_

It’s Damian. The boy had spent the whole day holed in his room so Dick had assumed he didn’t want to go on patrol. It had anyway been a few weeks since they had even found a time for patrolling together. Bruce’s watchful eye hadn’t left them for a second after Damian had begun his regular training under Bruce’s command.

“North end of Park Row. Why?”

_“You left without me.”_

“I thought you were moping.”

_“I don’t mope,”_ Damian denies. Dick can hear the annoyance in the boy’s voice. He chuckles aloud.

“You coming, then? It’s pretty boring out here.”

_“I don’t care. I’m coming. Keep your position.”_

“Sure, baby assassin.”

Damian growls a disgruntled noise before shutting down the link. Dick laughs again although he knows Damian can’t hear it.

It takes the boy around fifteen minutes to arrive. Dick is waiting for him sitting on a roof and swinging his legs over the edge. The boy sits next to him. He doesn’t say anything.

“I said it’s quite boring out here,” Dick says.

“No. Tranquil,” Damian corrects almost absent-mindedly.

“You can almost see the stars.”

“I miss the stars. I used watch them every night from my small window in Grandfather’s castle.”

Dick glances at the boy. He’s staring up in the sky, with longing eyes and a sad smirk on his lips. He looks so open and… vulnerable. Then the boy turns to look at Dick and his smile softens for a split of a second. The moment is as short as a heartbeat but it doesn’t matter. Dick’s heart clenches inside his chest and for the first time in ages he doesn’t know what to say.

“We used to watch them from our trailers. Mom taught me the names of the constellations and then we’d make up names for the ones we didn’t know,” the older man tells, his voice lowering to a whisper. Damian leans in like they were sharing a secret. In a way they were.

Silence falls all around them but they don’t need words in this moment.

Until finally Damian shoves a roll of paper in Dick’s hand causing the man to break the silence.

“What’s this?”

“Merry Christmas.”

Damian looks like he felt a little awkward about it. Dick grins widely.

“Dami, you didn’t need to. And I left your gift at the Manor. I was going to give it to you on Christmas Eve.”

“Shut up and unfold it.”

Dick’s grin widens until he feels like his face is going to rip. He unfolds the paper slowly, to reveal a painting. Dick gasps and turns to look at Damian with an expression that is at the same time stunned and excited.

“Oh my god, Damian! You painted this yourself? Holy shit I never knew you were this good!”

Damian shifts and shrugs looking a little uncomfortable.

“It’s probably stupid, it’s just a painting,” he says meekly, “ahh I should’ve gotten you a real gift.”

Dick rewraps the painting to shelter it from the snow. Then he presses a finger on Damian’s lips and latches onto his shoulders hugging him tightly.

“This is the best Christmas gift ever!” he assures. Damian grunts and wriggles himself out of the older man’s grip. He wipes away undetectable dust and straightens his sleeves. Dick shakes his head with amusement.

“Shut up, Grayson,” Damian grumbles.

“Will not,” Dick retorts and pecks a quick kiss on Damian’s cheek.

The boy freezes still and stares at Dick in bewilderment. Then something flashes in his eyes and he drops his gaze to his hands resting in his lap. Dick’s pretty sure he recognized the flash he saw.

Affection. Flickers of a smile in the boy’s eyes.

Dick smiles and hugs Damian again, just for the heck of it.

– – –

And from then on there’s slightly less room on the walls of Dick’s room than there had been before. Among the circus posters, landscape pictures and photos of his weird little family there’s hanging something entirely different.

The picture has a dark background, like a starry night sky over a silhouette of a city. The front is clearly lighter, like the moon casting its light on the canvas. And right at the center of the painting is Nightwing. The colors are vibrant and the position he is painted in is recognizable.

And it seems that the painter has even managed to capture the grace and lightness of his movements and the fluidity of his flight.

Dick’s pretty certain he’s never been more proud to call Damian his little brother.

– – –


	24. Fight it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After writing this chapter I realized it feels a little short but I kinda didn't want to put anything else into it?? Well, hope you like it, guys!

“Nightwing, watch out!”

The acrobat manages to barely duck the knife due to Damian’s warning, flinging his escrima towards the thug to knock him out. He spins around to secure Damian’s back while the boy expertly handles the rest of the men.

They are left in total silence in the street, both desperately gasping for air. But they don’t have much time so they just quickly zip-cuff the men and drop a signal to the GCPD before moving on. Dick’s communicator has been going off every five minutes for the last four hours, informing them of crimes in various locations around the city.

During the last three days Gotham’s most ruthless, vicious and twisted criminals seem to have completely lost it, resulting in a massive crime spree. Their lines are stretched thin which is exactly why even Damian has been allowed to don a mask. At first Bruce wanted to keep Damian safe from the extravagantly crazy nights of the city but with Jason gone they are severely outnumbered.

But Damian has no time to think. They are already on the next scene and he has to focus all of his will so that he won’t collapse on his feet. But he isn’t alone. Marking the man’s exhaustion, Dick has long since given up on his bubbly chatter. They fight like machines. Monotone. Efficient. _Unintelligent._

“Assassin!”

Something hits Damian in the back, pain piercing his left side. He clamps a hand over the fresh wound. Blood trickles through his gloves and smudges his clothes. He hears manic laughter behind him, recognizing it as the Penguin. His eyes dim as he falls on his knees. Dick rushes in to get him to cover. Then an explosion lights up the street and the blast slams them into different directions. Sparks and fragments of glass rain over Damian.

The blast bangs the air out of his lungs. He tries to fight for oxygen despite the excruciating pain in his chest. More explosions follow in chains. He tries to focus his gaze to anywhere but he can’t see anything but shattered glass and burning pieces of wood everywhere around him.

Dick appears into Damian’s field of vision again, mouthing words at him but the words mean nothing because he can’t understand them. The white lenses of Dick’s mask cover the worry in his eyes but Damian can see his panic from the posture of his body. Then his face stretches into an expression of surprise and he collapses to the ground. Damian tries to yell but his voice drowns under the roaring explosions still raging on. Dick mouths one more word before going totally limp and colliding with the street.

_“Damian.”_

Damian can almost hear how Dick’s voice goes softer when he pronounces the boy’s name. Tears burn in Damian’s eyes when he tries to crouch closer to the older vigilante. It can’t be over now. This isn’t how it was supposed go. The unfairness of the situation is overpowering and makes the young assassin feel helpless. Powerless. Angry.

Sudden flashes of red and black glide across his blurred field of vision. New voices join the chaotic choir of the street, followed by grunts and screams of pain all over the scene. Somewhere near Damian a massive explosion goes off, forcing him to cover his face and ears.

Until suddenly, it’s completely quiet. Silence booms in Damian’s ears and his heart beats in his chest like it was trying to convince even itself it was still beating.

“Nightwing?” he yells into the silence. His voice comes out as only a whisper. Pain spikes up in his left flank and leaves him gasping for air.

Slowly, after minutes and minutes of empty screeching filling his ears, his hearing starts to come back. The quiet snaps of the burning wood, the clinking of the shattered glass and the distant noises of the fight that has moved on to another street.

Damian crawls to Dick’s languid body and searches the switch from his mask to get eye contact with the man.

“Dick?” he asks, weakly shaking the man with his right hand. The man lifts his head only marginally and his eyes flickers open tiredly.

“Dami?”

“Just stay with me,” Damian commands, “it’s not that bad.”

He tries to hide his own pain but Dick makes him right away. The man extends a hand to touch Damian’s waist gently. His eyes stare emptily at the blood that smears his gloves.

“Are you hurt?”

“It’s just a scratch.”

“Damian, I’m so tired…” Dick mutters, his eyes closing and his head jerking down and then up again like he couldn’t stay awake.

“Fight it, you loser!” Damian coughs. “Don’t give up now!”

“Dami, will you watch over me if I sleep for a moment?”

Damian slaps the man’s cheek. He grimaces when his wound reminds him of its existence but elects to ignore it and focus on keeping the acrobat awake.

“Don’t you dare close your eyes, Dick,” Damian threatens, “you quitter, fight it! Goddammit!”

“Goodnight, Dami,” Dick wishes and smiles weakly. He seems unaware of the whole situation, stupefied of blood loss and the overflowing waves of pain. The anger boiling inside the boy fuels his every move.

“No, no, Grayson, no! Open your eyes, fucker!”

When Dick doesn’t answer Damian crawls closer and tries to nudge the man with his shoulder. Tears stream openly down his cheeks and strong sobs shake his whole body.

“Please don’t leave me,” Damian whispers. He can feel his own energy dripping out of him along with the blood bleeding from his wound.

He lays his head down to Dick’s shoulder. God, he’s so tired. The feeling of being helpless and powerless returns stronger than earlier. All the things he still wants to say get stuck in his throat and he feels like they’re choking him.

_Is this it?_

_I can’t lose you._

_I don’t want to die._

_Save me._

_I’m scared._

_I love you._

“Dick, please wake up,” Damian sighs exhaustedly. Dick’s eyes flutter half-open for a split of a second. Hope sparks inside the young assassin.

“I love you, Dami,” the man whispers, still smiling dizzily.

Damian stares at him, words fleeing his mind. Instead, he collects the last shreds of his energy and lifts his head up to press a kiss on the older man’s dry, cracked lips. Dick’s eyes close again.

“I love you too,” Damian whispers in the man’s ear.

His anger is gone. His hope is gone. There’s nothing left but the soothing darkness that swallows him whole.

– – –


	25. Debts

“I lost Nightwing and the assassin,” Tim curses and shoves his comm angrily back to his belt.

The Titans gather closer around him wiping sweat and dust from their foreheads. They’re all breathing heavily and some are leaning to their knees to get their breath going again. Clayface and a bunch of Black Mask’s thugs are lying on the ground around them, defeated and unconscious.

“Where’re they?” Wonder Girl asks.

“I don’t know. Nightwing’s GPS is probably broken,” Tim mutters. Superboy steps closer and places a hand over his shoulder.

“Let’s go find them,” he suggests. Tim nods.

“Where do we start?” someone asks. An explosion shakes the ground. Tim points at the direction it came from.

“There.”

No more words are needed. The Team straightens up and gets on the move. A quiet voice in the back of Tim’s mind is whispering dark premonitions but the boy bluntly ignores it.

When they arrive at explosion site, Tim freezes in front of the horrific sight. The buildings have collapsed all over the streets with people trapped inside, whimpering scared. And the fire, it’s everywhere. Somewhere under the debris numerous bodies are suffering while clasping tight to the last shreds of their lives.

Tim inhales and pulls himself together faster than he probably should have. He starts giving off instructions to distract his team from the depressing sight and to get them to work. They climb down and start the searches.

Cold fear creeps inside Tim. Any of these bodies could belong to Dick, to Damian. He’s throwing the rocks aside, digging deeper into the debris until his gloves rip and his hands are bleeding. With every dead body Tim feels his heart sink lower, tears choking his throat. Usually he’s not the one to cry but the solidified expressions of absolute innocence, of sheer horror, of incoherent pain on people’s faces are too much.

“Robin.”

The word is whispered with a soft voice. Tim thinks it’s just his imagination. No-one calls him Robin anymore.

“Robin.”

This time it’s more insistent and closer. Tim turns around.

Red helmet. Two guns, pointing at the ground. Distant smell of sulfur. Red Hood. Jason.

“Jay…”

“Hey, bird boy. Are you okay?”

It’s a stupid question. Of course he’s not okay. Tim’s about to rasp that out loud but changes his mind in the last second.

“I’m fine.”

“The hell you are. You look like you just climbed out of your own grave,” Jason blurts, tucking away his guns. Tim winces at the words. Jason opens his arms.

Tim flies forward to hug him. Relief washes over him and, for a moment, the fear isn’t holding him so tight.

“I missed you,” Tim mutters to Jason’s neck.

“I missed you, too,” the man mumbles back, pressing the boy tighter to his chest.

Tim pulls back and inspects the man more carefully. He looks like he had been torn apart and then put together again. Tim touches the blood marks on his clothes and frowns.

“Don’t worry. It’s mostly from other people,” Jason says grinning behind the helmet.

“Shut up,” Tim commands. Silence. Hesitation. “I can’t find Nightwing.”

“Then should we go help your Titans to find him?” Jason suggests. Tim nods.

“Yeah.”

– – –

“Shh, kitten,” a soothing woman’s voice purrs in his ear. “Just like that, step by step, good boy.”

“Sel…?”

“Yes. Quickly now move, move.”

Dick stumbles forward, confused and blind. His legs don’t seem to carry his weight properly but Selina’s strong hands hold him upright.

“What about,” Dick falters, “Damian?”

“He told me to take you first.”

“He’s alive? Please tell me he’s alive,” the man whispers weakly. Selina doesn’t answer, just pushes him forward.

“Where is he? You should’ve taken him instead.”

“Quiet now, Nightwing.”

Dick obeys. He’s too weak to do anything else. Even breathing is hard enough. But all the questions burn inside his chest, strangling him.

Then finally the darkness is replaced by flickering light. They are in a bunker. It’s mostly empty and smells like sewers but to Dick, it smells like safety. Selina shuts a door behind them and rushes him to lie on a pile of tattered pillows.

“Sorry about this,” she apologizes, “I had to think about safety first.”

Dick pulls together all his energy to wave his hand dismissively.

“It is okay, Selina. Thank you.”

“I got to go save the little one. Stay here. That’s an order,” the woman replies, ignoring his words. Dick tries to salute but fails miserably.

“Yes, sir,” he says, attempting to smile. Selina looks at him pitifully before turning away and leaving. The door clangs shut behind her.

Solitude wraps its arms around Dick and pulls him down to the depths of darkness with it.

He dreams of Damian and dry lips that taste like salt and ash.

– – –

Damian’s eyes crack open.

He’s leaning against a wall, his body curled into a ball like he was trying to remain invisible. The flames around him are slowly dying. Kind of like him.

He’s three feet away from where he first woke up, with his head on Grayson’s shoulder. His hands couldn’t drag him any further. At least Grayson was safe now. Maybe. Damian closes his eyes.

When he opens them again, a figure is crouching in front of him, measuring him like a puzzle. He tries to punch it but the wounds around his ribs hurt too much. His arm falls down and an accidental whimper escapes his lips.

“Keep calm, kitten. It’s not over yet,” Catwoman whispers. Her hands feel cold against Damian’s burnt skin. Suddenly the boy feels like he was fully awake.

“Why did you come back?” Damian hisses angrily. “You were supposed to look after him!”

The woman shoots him an unimpressed glance.

“That’s what I’m doing.”

She lifts the boy onto her arms. Damian bites his lips to suppress a pained grunt.

“Put me down!” he commands. Catwoman completely ignores him.

Damian must have drifted off some moments after because when he opens his eyes again, he’s lying next to Grayson on a pile of filthy pillows in an empty bunker. Explosions are rattling the walls around them but Damian doesn’t feel threatened by them.

Selina is sitting against the wall some feet away from them. Her mask is lying on the floor beside her and she’s eating something that looks distinctively like bread. She seems to feel Damian staring at her because she frowns and turns his way.

“You’re awake. Can you walk?” she asks. Damian shrugs.

“Where’re we?”

“Safe. For now.”

“What’s going on? Outside, I mean,” Damian queries and sits up to inspect his wounds.

“Two-Face is running the show, mostly. Penguin has taken the harbor and is battling Black Mask. Riddler is entertaining Batman. Poison Ivy, Harley and some others are underground, probably just enjoying the show. Others, I don’t know about.”

“What about our side?”

“Batman is busy with Riddler. Red Robin and the Titans ran into Mr Freeze, Penguin and his people. Batgirl’s working with GCPD. Red Hood’s back in town. If there’re others, they are off the grid.”

Damian deems Selina’s first aid satisfactory and turns to go over Dick’s wounds.

“Is it even close to over yet?”

Selina shakes her head.

“You know, this doesn’t make us friends. But I owe you one,” Damian says after a short silence.

“I know, kitten. At some point, you all do.”

“Doesn’t mean I trust you, either,” Damian grunts, “but if you want to sleep, I swear by Grayson’s honor that I won’t kill you in your sleep.”

“What a generous offer.”

“The best you’ll get from me.”

The woman sneaks over and cradles herself against Grayson’s back. She eyes Damian cautiously and smiles gently.

“Wake me up in three hours. Then it’s your turn.”

She closes her eyes and falls asleep immediately.

Damian envies the peace on her face. There’s no peace inside him. 

– – –


	26. Hesitation

Jason and Tim walk side by side in a dark tunnel. Their steps make quiet splashing sounds in the ankle deep water. Jason feels like someone was staring at him from the darkness, like they weren’t alone in there.

“Why do we always get the sewers?” Jason mumbles.

“Would you have wanted to wait outside?” Tim asks.

“No.”

They keep on walking. Jason fiddles with his guns. This could be it, the last strike.

Bruce had survived Riddler’s last trick but only barely and not without consequences. Now every single criminal mastermind in the city was headed to him, knowing he was tired, helpless and unarmed. Tim had heard Penguin talking to his thugs about it just moments before he and the Titans had gotten attacked by Mr. Freeze.

Tim had made some quick calls and now every hero capable of walking was making their way there. They were going to surround the building and when the criminals would arrive, they’d swoop in and throw the whole lot back to Arkham.

And now, here they were: sneaking in through sewers.

“It’s got to look like a trap,” Tim had explained, “we got to make them believe it’s the Justice League.”

“You think this will work?” Jason asks. His voice echoes emptily in the tunnel. Tim nods.

“Of course it will.”

“I don’t like it when you get all optimistic,” Jason mutters. “It makes me nervous.”

“Shut up and stick to the plan,” Tim says. He sounds cold and distant. He was probably calculating all the possible outcomes. Jason left that to him.

They climb ladders to a higher level and Tim picks the lock that leads them to a storage room filled with dusty boxes. The younger boy stops and turns to Jason.

“Whatever we have to face out there… please don’t die,” he says.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Jason chuckles.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“I’m glad you’re here with me,” the boy mumbles, searching for words, “if we go down tonight, I’m honored that I’ll go down by your side.”

Jason steps closer and wraps his arms around the boy’s waist, pressing his forehead against Tim’s.

“Just stop squirming,” he scoffs, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Their lips meet. Tim surges into the kiss almost desperately. Like he was afraid Jason could somehow disappear. They pull apart.

“Let’s go?” Tim asks.

“Let’s go,” Jason replies and takes the lead. He pushes open the door and they sneak in.

It’s dead quiet. Bruce – Batman, Jason corrects in his mind – is lying in the middle of the floor. They are in a middle school gym. The wall bars are covered in blood, but there are no bodies to be seen.

“Batman?” Tim asks, “Where are the civilians? Where’s Riddler?”

“He’s gone. Civilians are saved,” Bruce breathes out. He sounds miserably weak and looks even more so.

“We got to get you out of here.”

Tim walks to him, Jason on his heels.

“Everybody who’s been to Arkham is coming to get you,” Tim explains as he tries to help the man back on his feet, “they want revenge.”

“Let them come,” Bruce rasps, “you shouldn’t be here. I can take them.”

“Yeah, and I’m an angel,” Jason laughs disbelief in his tone, “Let’s go, B.”

“Let’s go?” someone asks behind them, “Already? The party’s not even begun yet!”

Tim and Jason spin around.

Joker greets them with a manic grin. Behind him stands every Arkham-level criminal who has managed to avoid captivity. Jason feels his heart sink. Even with every Titan outside, every Batfamily member, every asset they’ve got, it still looks hopeless.

“Kill the bats!” Killer Croc yells and scoots forward. Jason can see the bloodlust in his eyes from the other side of the gym.

“Green light!” Tim yells into his comm.

The windows break all at once.

At first the Titans attack with such force that the villains fall back in shock.

The gym breaks into full-blown chaos. Jason and Tim pull Bruce to a corner. Tim jumps into the fight without even a glance to Jason. It twists Jason’s heart a little, but right now, they’re behind the masks. And with a mask on his face, Tim has always been cold and calculating. His only goals are to win this fight and to keep his team alive. There’s no time to waste on saying things they both already know.

Jason shoots Harley on the shoulder. The girl has to drop her huge hammer and stop her sneak attack on Tim.

“See, I love you,” Jason sighs and runs headfirst into the fight.

Batman can take care of himself.

– – –

They’re bruised and battered and still walking.

The streets are empty and all too quiet for Damian’s taste. Selina walks behind him and Dick, so quiet the boy could’ve forgotten she’s there.

“Where’s everybody?” Damian asks, looking around at the city ruins.

“I’m just glad no-one is to kill us,” Dick says flashing a pained grin, “it gets kind of tiring after the first few times.”

“Do you have to?” Damian sighs. Dick laughs and shrugs.

“Yeah, I guess.”

“Hush, I hear something.”

“Your ears are just whistling, kitten,” Selina hums but Damian shoots a glare at her and the woman turns away shrugging.

“It’s a battle,” Damian says and points to their left.

“You think we should check it out?” Dick asks, although he’s already moving in the direction Damian pointed at. The boy nods and follows after him.

The noise gets remarkably louder the closer they get. Dick and Selina glance at each other, they hear it too now. The trio slides in through a door that has been blasted open with brutal force.

Turning a corner reveals a frightening sight.

Damian feels fear choking his throat when he looks at the fight going on in front of them. Vigilantes and villains alike are struggling to keep their heads on their shoulders, dodging attacks and trying to come out on top. Despite his lifelong training, going in feels like suicide.

Dick glances at Damian.

The boy can sense the will of fight crumbling away from the man. There’s no backing out from this fight now, but they both know it would be easier to simply leave and disappear.

The only reason that could make Dick so hesitant is that he still tastes their kiss on his lips. Damian can’t think of any other reason. Why else would he still stand there, looking at Damian like these were their last seconds alive? Why else wouldn’t he have already dived in to help his friends?

Dick’s expression goes hard and stern. The man has made up his mind.

“I need you to stay alive, little assassin,” the man says and pulls out his escrimas. Damian nods.

“This is not farewell, Grayson,” Damian replies and unsheathes his knives.

They don’t look back to see if Selina joins them, and it doesn’t matter. Damian is only fighting for Dick anyway. 

A small scared voice screams in the back of Damian’s mind when they lunge in to the fight.

– – –

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eternal thank yous to HerbariumPress for beta reading!


End file.
